Harry's Madness
by SilverLocke980
Summary: UPDATED! CHAPTER 39Harry snaps, and becomes a darkness that rivals Voldemort himself...
1. Default Chapter

Hey everybody. This is my second story on FF.net, so it takes a back burner to my first story, "Deeping Dream", a Darkstalkers tale. I got the idea for this little number while reading the fifth Harry Potter book- at the beginning, I kept thinking, "Why isn't Harry yelling for answers?" Personally, I wouldn't take all the crap 'ol Harry did... I would have throttled Sirius until he told me everything. This story is an idea I had- what if Harry got mad and freaked out? This starts right after the Hearing at the Wizengamot, during the encounter with Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge. Please review me- I would love to hear from you!  
  
NOTE: Thoughts indicated in parentheses ().  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Rage  
  
Harry stood, listening to the argument between Weasley and Lucius. He stood there, wondering a single question: Why me?  
  
(Why?) Harry thought, his mind a raincloud of sorrows. (Why? What have I done, except the best for them? I defeated Voldemort as a child- due to my mother, true, but I still defeated him- and I stopped him from getting the Sorceror's Stone. I defeated the memory of Tom Riddle left in the diary and his pet basilisk- true, if Fawkes hadn't shown up, I would be dead, but that diminishes the feat in no way- and I saved Ginny as well. In my third year, I saw Voldemort's servant Pettigrew escape and freed my godfather- although those are things I can't tell anyone- and last year, I came out of the Triwizard Tournament with Cedric Diggory's body in my arms. I SAW VOLDEMORT RISE. And is this... my reward? My thanks for giving my all, for living in fear almost every day? To be left in the dark by friends and hounded by my enemies?)  
  
Tears almost sprang to his eyes- and then they were pushed back by a flood tide of sheer anger. More hatred than Harry had ever felt rushed to the front of his mind- he barely heard Fudge say "This way, Lucius"- and in it, a single thought came out.  
  
(Make them pay.)  
  
Mr. Weasley, taking one look at Harry's haggard and drawn face, decided to stay quiet. The history of Wizarding might have changed had he spoken, but he said nothing.  
  
Harry, left to his own thoughts, brewed them into a stew that was black and thick and viscous.  
  
( I will make them pay,) he thought, letting darkness nestle in his mind like a owl coming to roost. ( I will strike them down, one by one. They will learn to fear me. I am not a child, to be pushed about-)  
  
As he thought this, they stepped into the "elevator" that led upwards through the Ministry of Magic. As they stepped out, heading back, he looked at the fountain. The wizard, who looked so handsome from afar, looked like a fool up close. The woman had the blank, vapid smile that often appears on the faces of women who have realized that their bodies are far more valuable than their minds in this world. Harry stopped for a second, considering throwing a coin in, then decided not to. After all, he would need the money.  
  
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After returning to the Order of the Pheonix's headquarters and being greeted by everyone (including a very shaken Hermione), he announced that he was drained and wanted to sleep for a while. He was allowed to go, and he heard Mr. Weasley speaking to Sirius as he left.  
  
" Settle down! Listen, Sirius, Lucius was at the Ministry-"  
  
Harry heard Sirius' interrupting "What?" before closing the door of the bedroom he shared with Ron. Sitting on one of the beds, he began thinking. He had to know now if he had it in him- if he had the will to strike down his foes. He thought of them all, each time asking himself, " Can I kill them?". And each time, the darkness rolled forward and enveloped him, and the answer was "Yes."  
  
Harry looked at his hands. They would soon be the hands of a killer.  
  
The thought caused a grin to appear on his face.  
  
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Several days passed- Harry helped the others clean out Sirius' old house- with nothing happening. Harry plotted and planned (as well as studied), but nothing could be done yet. No one here- save perhaps Sirius and Mrs. Weasley, who had kept information from him- were on the wrong side of his account books, and anyway he already had his first target in mind:  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
It finally drew to that precious first day of school. Harry found himself a booth next to Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, and a strange-looking girl whose eyeballs were too big for her head. Ginny announced that her name was Luna Lovegood. Shortly afterwards, Neville's new pet cactus showered him with gunk, seconds before Cho Chang- a girl Harry had secretly longed for for quite a while- happened to look inside. Harry became almost angry enough with Longbottom to rip his throat out on the spot, but held his temper.  
  
Although several things happened between this time and the time of Sorting, none of it was of note to Harry- save perhaps the new teachers. One was one of those who had voted against him- her name turned out to be Umbridge. Harry grinned when he saw her- a very cruel Fate had delivered this woman to his hands. When Malfoy was dead, Harry would see to her.  
  
The first week, Harry avoided trouble- he almost rose to the bait several times in Umbridge's class, but thinking of her eventual demise prevented him from losing his temper. It was vital that he not get detention- he had a special subject he was studying- the art of pushing.  
  
There were so many ways you could shove someone, he was discovering. And that was what he planned for Draco Malfoy to discover very soon.  
  
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Sunday, First Week of Hogwarts School.  
  
The day that two things of import happened, related very heavily- the day Harry Potter learned telekinesis and Draco Malfoy died.  
  
Harry had been in the library every spare second, researching what the wizards termed "force projection"- the magic of throwing physical force as a concentrated power. He had no trouble out of others- only Hermione and Ron asked him anything, and he said that he had heard that Mrs. Umbridge was going to put them on a force projection test soon. It was a good enough cover lie, and neither of his friends wanted to talk to Umbridge to find out.  
  
Harry had narrowed down his choices to two magic spells- one that emitted force one acted out a set distance away (The Mobilus Longilus Charm) and a more complex spell that gave the user the temporary power to move objects with the mind (the Telekinesis Charm). Harry chose the latter and practiced every day. At first, just using the spell was tiring, and his mind could only move small objects- feathers, hats, socks. But in two days of almost constant practice, he found he could move larger objects- his heavy books, his dresser, and once when no one was looking, he had used it to trip Neville Longbottom. Everyone had laughed and figured that Neville had tripped on his own feet- but Harry knew better.  
  
Neville's trip meant Malfoy's death was near.  
  
Harry's plan was very simple. He would wait outside the top of the stairs leading up to Slytherin House with his Invisibility Cloak on. He would wait until he saw Draco's gang- him, Crabbe, and Goyle, most likely- and then quietly cast the Telekinesis Charm on himself. When Draco got to the top, Harry was going to hurl all his might at him. Draco would fall- breaking his back and skull against the stone.  
  
Harry waited that night inside his cloak, a expectant look on his face. Strands of hair fell into his face, and his lips curled in a strange snarl. Anyone who could gaze at him then, through his cloak, would swear they had glimpsed a demon.  
  
He heard rather than saw Draco's group walking up the stairs. Draco was telling bad jokes that Crabbe and Goyle were both laughing at. Harry grinned. (Enjoy your last joke, Malfoy). As Draco topped the stairs, blond hair perfectly combed and looking immaculate in his expensive robes, Harry shoved with his mind.   
  
Harry had a very pleasant view of Draco's face, looking perplexed indeed, as he saw that his body was falling over the banister. He was already past it when Crabbe and Goyle caught on. Goyle tried to grab him, but his hairy arm came up far too short to grab Draco. Draco uttered a single choked scream before his skull imploded on the stones below.  
  
Inside his cloak, Harry grinned.  
  
The darkness closed around him. 


	2. The Burning Fever

My first chapter was received well by you devoted fanfiction.net users, so here is number 2. I have picked a target that almost everyone agrees should die- one Professor Snape. For those curious about how this fits with Order of the Pheonix, this occurs about three days into Umbridge's term as High Inquisitor. Those of you who like Snape, sorry, but his death is going to be a bit worse than Malfoy's.  
  
Oh yeah, legal stuff: I do not own the Harry Potter series. If I did, my name would be J.K. Rowling, I'd be a English woman, and not wasting my time with this fanfic.  
  
()-indicates thought.  
  
CHAPTER 2  
  
The Burning Fever  
  
It was a week after Malfoy's death. The school still rang with news and rumors of it. Although Harry had immediately been suspected- the hate between him and Draco was an old wound- he was cleared of it soon enough. Oddly, the suspicion landed on Goyle, whose arm had been reached out to him- in their stress, the inhabitants of Slytherin had changed events in their mind to include Goyle shoving Malfoy off. Crabbe attempted to clear Goyle, but then Slytherin lumped them together and decided they were tired of Malfoy's tyranny and had decided to give him a free trip to the bottom of the stairs. Both were expelled two days later.  
  
On that same day, Dumbledore had held a meeting, and everyone in school was gathered. Even those who didn't like Malfoy were shocked by his end, and that two students had been responsible for it. Harry kept his face shocked but dry, the proper face of someone who has just realized his worst enemy is dead, but inside he was laughing.  
  
He had many reasons to laugh. One was simple enough. Draco Malfoy was dead, and little could spoil the humor that brought on. The second was more complex. He had found his place in the great scheme, not that of hero, but that of monster. And he was enjoying the hell out of it.  
  
Another good reason for chuckling was that he had formed the D.A. This group, Dumbledore's Army, was formed to perform Defense against the Dark Arts in the student's spare time- ever since Umbridge was in, the bitch had made Defense against the Dark Arts a joke. She had also gained power, being named High Inquisitor the day after Malfoy's death. Oh well. Things couldn't always be perfect, as Harry found out.  
  
The D.A. was going to change soon, although they didn't know it. Already he had moved them from approved jinxes and hexes into completely different spells- channeling and chanting, spells far more powerful than mere jinxes. Already Neville Longbottom- who seemed determined to become the best at these new spells- could perform the chant that made him a shadow, and Hermione could create a blizzard that froze anything in its path. Whenever anyone asked why they were studying such powerful spells, he simply replied, " Because Voldemort is." That stopped further queries. Dumbledore's army- which Harry hoped to make Potter's Army soon- was growing by leaps and bounds, both in numbers and power.  
  
These were his usual reasons for laughing inside, but today he had a new reason.  
  
Snape was going to die today.  
  
What he would do was, like his plan for Malfoy, simple enough. Snape was giving them a healing potion for homework. Snape would cut his skin slightly, drink the potion, and then see if his would healed. If it did so fully, full marks were awarded. If not, varying grades were given depending on how much healed.  
  
What Snape didn't know was that Harry wasn't going to give him a Healing Potion. He was going to give him a Bonding Potion. The two potions were very closely aligned, with the same color and smell- the only difference was that the Bonding Potion didn't heal at all. It linked the drinker with the potion. The drinker drank half. From then on, whatever happened to the other half of the potion occurred to the drinker. Harry planned on giving this potion to Snape and then keeping the other half. He would then do something very lethal with it- throw it out a window, perhaps.  
  
In class that day, Snape asked for the potions. When Harry came up, Snape sniffed the potion and checked the color- blue. He nodded.  
  
" Good so far, Potter," he muttered. He then cut his finger and lifted the potion to his lips. He drank some, and watched the wound. It didn't heal at all.  
  
" Well, Potter, being famous doesn't mean your potions are worth anything," Snape said, clearly overjoyed that Harry had failed. Harry simply nodded and kept from grinning as he failed the test.  
  
( You have no idea what I will do to you,) Harry thought.  
  
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That night, Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room alone. He lifted up a small vial in his hand, and smiled. The light the full hearth gave the room reflected off his eyes, but didn't go in them. The darkness there was too complete to be pierced by mere firelight. The smile seemed as if it would suddenly turn to rending jaws.  
  
Harry threw the vial into the fire, and watched as it burned away.  
  
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In his private room, exactly one minute before Harry threw his potion away, Snape began to get into bed. And just as he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his entire digestive system exploded in flame. He died silently- as no scream could pass his lips. His bed burned down around him, and fire licked the walls.  
  
The jester in Harry Potter's soul began to laugh again.  
  
It was the laughter of the dark. 


	3. The Jester is Born

I have received excellent reviews so far! Thanks to my reviewers; continue on with your suggestions! And now, the moment you've all been waiting for- THE DEATH OF MRS. UMBRIDGE! I am finally killing the bitch! You are all welcome to send me ideas for Harry's next target, but remember that Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Cho Chang are OFF-LIMITS. Why? Continue reading my story to find out....  
  
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters thereof.  
  
()- Indicates thought.  
  
CHAPTER 3  
  
The Jester is Born  
  
Mrs. Umbridge sat in her office, surrounded by gamboling kittens upon her lampshade. She was reading the latest letter from Fudge, who was ranting about how Dumbledore must be kept in his place. That was when she heard a swishing noise in front of her. Thinking it was the wind, she continued reading.  
  
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Harry stood silently in front of her, hidden by his Invisibility Cloak. He grinned as she ignored the small swishing noise his cloak made as it touched the floor.  
  
( Pitiful woman,) he thought.  
  
Harry was here for a single reason- to kill Umbridge- but the time wasn't right yet. He wanted her full and undivided attention when the time came- and his new powers demanded she die at midnight.  
  
It was 11:55.  
  
To pass the time, Harry reflected on the past events of the week. Snape had died a week earlier, and the school was still in an uproar- which made it easy for Cho Chang to sneak into Snape's Potions class and steal ingredients. That girl was very useful.  
  
Harry's smile under the cloak broadened. He had completely changed the members of the D.A., and it was so simple! He'd thought the members of the D.A., especially those of Gryffindor, would be more stubborn in defending their values, but when you showed them certain paths... they fell into darkness.  
  
Neville Longbottom, in his wish to avenge his parents, had been easy enough to convince of taking on Elemental magics. These magics, banned to all who were not in the specialized Orders of the Ministry, called on the four cardinal forces to empower the user. Neville had chosen Water, and even now he could breathe underwater, turn water to ice, and summon ferocious torrents of water from the ground. Neville was very clearly enjoying his new powers, and he had become far more vicious in its use.   
  
Cho Chang, on the other hand, wasn't convinced by revenge, but by love. Harry had been sweet to her- very soft and sweet. Everything she'd always wanted in a man. She would do anything for him- so when he softly suggested she become an Enchanter, she had jumped at it. She could now inscribe runes on anything- cloaks, swords, wands, doors- and she had inscribed Sirius' knife to become an even more powerful lockpick. Her boots were inscribed so that she made no sound, and she had used these talents to steal from Snape.  
  
It was now 11:57.  
  
These and other examples were typical of what the D.A. was becoming. BUt there had been losses- Hermione and Ron, for instance, had taken a quarter of the D.A. and run off with it. They were hiding out somewhere in the school- the events of the past few days were enough so that Harry couldn't devote time to hunt his old friends down and then deal with them.  
  
Harry mused over where they could be, and then banished it from his mind. No matter. Deal with Umbridge, then with them.  
  
He took his cloak off and stepped into the light. Umbridge gave a start.  
  
" Who are you?" she shrieked, then noticing it was Harry, her big toad-like eyes widened as she grinned. " Oh, I think this will warrant a expulsion, Mr. Potter. Not very smart to be in a -"  
  
Her sentence cut off as she saw the maniacal grin on his face.  
  
" What are you doing?" she asked, the question almost whispered. Fear shown on her face. " What are you planning, Potter?"  
  
Harry looked down at her. He was feeling very happy at the moment. " Oh, I was just going to show you something-"  
  
With that, he gave her a low, mocking bow- and darkness so black that the shadows around it were bright in comparison covered him. Umbridge covered her eyes- the blackness was so complete it was almost like a bright flash of light in a dark room.  
  
When she looked again, Harry Potter was gone, and in his place stood the Jester.  
  
His shoes had curled, pointed ends, much like a court jester's- but with skulls instead of bells on the end. The legs of his suit were enlarged at the bottom, but thinned at the top. His body was covered in paintings of faces in agony, and his arms- with the same odd thin-at-top-and-large-on-bottom design of his legs- ended in claws that glittered wickedly. His face was covered by a jester's mask that showed a lunatic grin. The crown on top was almost like a normal jester's, but just like the shoes, the points ended in skulls.  
  
Harry extended his new hands and laughed. The laughter seemed to come from everywhere at once.  
  
" Oh my dear Umbridge," the masked monster said, in a voice that sounded at once both deep as a mine and high as a tower, " an expulsion is the least of my worries."  
  
The laughter assaulted Umbridge's ears again. She backed off, picking up her wand and waving it and the transformed Harry.  
  
" STAY AWAY!" she shrieked. " I'LL KILL YOU! AVRADA KEVRADA!"  
  
A whisper of something dark echoed across the room. Harry slapped it aside as if it were nothing but a mere bug.  
  
" Oh, little, little girl," he said, laughing again. " I am beyond your powers. But I have no more time to talk- for it is midnight now. Both for you- and for the world..."  
  
Umbridge screamed only once as Harry's claws ripped her face apart. And the laughter echoed and echoed.... 


	4. Through a Mirror Darkly

So far I've gotten excellent reviews. (Sounds of Silverlocke980 dancing are heard in the background.) Those of you who like my stories can also find my other story under Anime- go there, then click Darkstalkers. My story is Deeping Dream. If you never played the game/watched the anime, don't worry- my story is mostly AU and inspired, not dependent, by Darkstalkers, so those of you who have no idea what it is don't need to worry about it.  
  
Enough of my prattling. Time to get to the meat of the thing- today's unlucky victim is (Drumroll Please!).... CORNELIUS FUDGE! But, he's not the only corpse-in-the-making... if you want to find out who else gets the axe, read on!   
  
As Roger of Big O fame puts it, " Showtime!"  
  
LEGALITES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR THE CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]-Indicates thought.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Through a Mirror Darkly  
  
Cornelius Fudge sat in his room, below the earth within the Ministry of Magic, and worried about the situation at Hogwarts. Things were bad at the school.  
  
Very bad.  
  
First of all, Draco Malfoy- Lucius' son- had been killed. However, the killers were caught and charged, so that matter was smoothed over ( unbeknownst to Fudge, Lucius had went to Azkaban and killed both Crabbe and Goyle himself). Secondly, a teacher- one Mr. Snape- had died, but again, there was little trouble- he wasn't well-known or well-liked. And then the kicker- if this was a bad joke, the last event was a punchline-  
  
Dolores Umbridge had been murdered.  
  
Although murdered was a very light term indeed for what had happened to her. She had been torn apart, as if a bear had decided to turn her inside out. The only part of her that was really identifiable was her right arm, which had a hideous tattoo on it- a skull, adorned with a jester's hat, laughing maniacally.  
  
And, of course, her eyes, which had been ripped out and placed on her night stand, staring grotesquely at the Inquisitors from the Ministry.  
  
And that wasn't the end of it, either. A huge portion of the school was gone, a portion that included Harry Potter. They weren't dead, they were just... gone. Fudge looked the list over again. He saw (but did not notice) the names of Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasly, and many others that, in a different day and age that seemed centuries ago, were part of the D.A.  
  
Fudge had been considering shutting Hogwarts down, and tonight he was drafting the legislation to do it.  
  
Behind him, hidden in shadows both real and magical, Harry Potter grinned.  
  
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[ What a damn fool,] Harry thought, and stilled a burst of the maniacal laughter that always hid just below the surface inside him. Thinking that shutting down Hogwarts would stop him!  
  
The man had no idea what Harry had in mind- a plan that would make Voldemort look like a mewling child. Harry meant to become more than a dark lord-  
  
He was going to become a dark god.  
  
But that was still in the future. At the moment, he would settle for taking Cornelius Fudge's oversized head from his shoulders. Although Cornelius himself was no problem, the Ministry itself might be... but if it was in anarchy and disorder before Harry began making his moves, then the threat was nullified.  
  
Harry grinned, as he made brief, telepathic contact with the three other members of the Black Tide- as his new army was called- who were currently inside the Ministry. He made a quick, cursory glance over them, and liked what he saw.  
  
A level above him, hiding inside a water tank as a small fish, Neville Longbottom awaited Kingsley Shacklebolt, a Auror who was simply too dangerous to allow to live much longer. Although powerful, Shacklebolt was nothing compared to Neville Longbottom. Even Harry was surprised- and if he didn't know that Neville would never betray him, he would be scared as well- at how much he had changed.  
  
In the course of revenge, Neville had made a oath in front of them all. The oath was simple. " I swear, by all that lies in this world, that if I must be damned to kill Voldemort, then damned will I be!" That oath meant he would do anything at all, if it meant Voldemort's head on a long, sharp stick. Neville had become a powerful Water warlock, and his magics now allowed him to change himself into various aquatic creatures. He was going to pierce Shacklebolt's heart with a spear of ice when the Auror turned his back.  
  
Waiting two floors above that, Cho Chang was nestled quite comfortably in Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Wrapped in it, she was awaiting Lucius Malfoy, who thought he was coming in to discuss tax matters with a senior Ministry official- Harry had sent this letter himself, with Cho Chang copying the runic signature of the Ministry- but he was really going to his final meeting- one with death, a death that had a very sharp and very enchanted knife that would plunge through his heart.  
  
In another section of the Ministry, awaiting Arthur Weasley, Ginny Weasley was clinging to the ceiling above the door. Amid the clutter and junk that was Mr. Weasley's trademark, he'd never see his beloved daughter. Of the three he had brought with him, Ginny had the greatest potential of them all. Cho Chang had her uses, Neville more so, but Ginny- Ginny was dark. That was the best word for it. Harry didn't know how long the bonds of love would keep Cho Chang in his grasp, and Neville would always serve him- and secretly hate doing it- but only Ginny enjoyed what she did. Harry had given her this job to see how well she did- he expected her to refuse when he asked her to kill her father, but she jumped at the chance. She thought it would be great fun, and already she said she could see many different magics that would be made possible by such a dark murder.  
  
She had told Harry ( when he'd asked what she meant) that she was going to become a Necromancer. This delighted Harry- he'd been sent into gales of laughter at the thought- because it meant that he would now have an aide. Calling on the dead and binding them was dangerous work when done alone- and now that he had another Necromancer to help him, he would finally be able to call the dead to do his work. All Ginny needed to satisfy the dark demon who would train her in these arts was the blood of a relative- Harry had thought of Ron, but Ron and Hermione had slipped off with the rest of the D.A. No one had seen hide nor hair of them in a week.  
  
And Ginny wanted to kill Mr. Weasley. She was going to present his dead body to the demon on a silver platter, and she knew the demon would be delighted.  
  
Harry grinned again under his mask. Everyone was ready. It was time to begin. He stepped out of shadow, once more the Jester, and picked Cornelius Fudge's considerable weight up with one hand by the shoulder.  
  
" Wha- ugh!" Fudge had time to ask, as Harry flung him into the nearest wall. The wall shook violently as it took the brunt of the force.  
  
" Hello, Fudge," Harry said, laughing again.  
  
" Who the hell...!" Fudge's eyes widened in horror and shock as he connected the Jester in front of him with the one burned onto Umbridge's dead arm.  
  
" Oh God," he moaned, trying to get to his feet- the blow had left his limbs numb, and the spot where Harry had grabbed him was numb, like it had been shot with novocaine. " You... you're the one who killed Umbridge, aren't you?"  
  
Harry broke out laughing, a laugh that Fudge found terrifying. " I do claim that honor. I believe I have done the world a favor in removing that woman from it- Darwin's laws, you know. Survival of the fittest- why, I do believe I've done the entire gene pool a grand favor in eliminating her from it." More laughter.  
  
" You... what in God's name are you?" Fudge asked, noting that the room was suddenly much colder than it had been- and that the fire, which before had burned merrily in it's fireplace across the room, had suddenly dimmed to the point of extinction.  
  
" Well.... that's an easy question and a hard one. The easy answer- I'm Harry Potter."  
  
" What?!?" Fudge asked, completely non-plussed by this answer.  
  
" And the hard answer-" Harry continued, lifting his hand to his mask and ignoring Fudge completely, " is that I am-" he grabbed the mask and pulled it off with a single jerking motion- " THIS."  
  
Fudge's single, choked scream emerged from his lips into the sound-proofed room. Laughter followed it- a chaser of madness for a shot of fear.  
  
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In another room, several murders were played out- but none as hideous as the patricide of Arthur Weasley.  
  
Clinging to the ceiling with ease, Ginny was conversing with the evil creature- which identified itself as a Dream Blighter- with which she had made her compact.  
  
" STRIKE HIM DOWN," the creature- which appeared only to her, in the shape of a vast, undefined mass of swirling souls- instructed her, " WITH THE WEAPON I HAVE GIVEN YOU. DO NOT HARM HIS SKULL, OR I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS OFFERRING."  
  
" As you will," she said, bowing her head slightly.  
  
" HE COMES," it stated simply, then vanished before her. She smiled. Now was her chance to shine- even if it was a dark shine...  
  
Although Ginny had never told anyone other than her new master about it, Ginny had never been fully possessed by Tom Riddle. Rather, she willingly went along with Riddle when he asked her to kill- to smear cryptic messages on the walls in blood- and any other things he had asked of her. It had been the one time she felt truly alive. And now she had gained her life again- under Harry Potter's rule.  
  
She had once asked the Blighter if she should kill Harry. It had responded quite fiercely to her, breaking it's usually calm pattern: "NO! HARRY POTTER IS TO BE KEPT ALIVE AND SERVED WELL. HE WILL CONSUME THIS WORLD INTO A PATTERN OF EVIL THAT WILL BE MILLENIA IN THE FIXING- IF IT EVER GETS FIXED AT ALL. HARRY IS VITAL TO THE DAMNATION OF THIS WORLD. SERVE HIM, GINNY- IF YOU EVER BECOME TIRED OF BEING HIS SERVANT, SIMPLY LEAVE. I HAVE OTHER PLACES FOR YOU, AND HARRY IS TOO IMPORTANT HERE TO BE TOUCHED."  
  
She had no problem with that, however; her question was mere curiosity.  
  
Steps in the hall.  
  
She instantly focused on what would happen next; all thought was brushed from her mind. It was time.  
  
Her father stepped in, not looking up ( as she knew he wouldn't) and moving on. She dropped to the floor, and then stood up, whistling as she did so.  
  
" What? Ginny?!?" he said, seeing her. " What are you doing he-"  
  
He stopped as he saw the twin wings sprouting from her back. Leather wings, and though she could not spread them in the cramped office, their size was evident.   
  
As were the claws on the tips.  
  
" Well, Father," she said, answering his unfinished question, " I'm here to begin my training as a Necromancer, and to do that you must die. I'd say I'm sorry," she shrugged, with a smirk on her face, before adding, " but to tell the truth, I'm delighted."  
  
" You're wha- aah!" he cried out. Ginny had stunned his muscles with a single word.  
  
" Now, now, father," she said, a childish- and sinister- smile on her face. " You can't really expect me to just allow you to move as you wish, can you? Now hold still, while I finish ripping your heart out for my new friend."  
  
Her wings transformed into energy, which reshaped itself into a hellish claw. It launched out, piercing Arthur Weasley's chest and ripping out his heart. He died silently, blood pouring out of his mouth.  
  
As she held out the still-warm heart to the Dream Blighter which had appeared above her, Ginny smiled.  
  
- Sorry, folks, but the deaths of Lucius Malfoy and Kingsley Shacklebolt will be next chapter. Ran out of room in this one. Send in reviews, my fellow readers!  
  
-Silverlocke980 


	5. Chapter Four, Part 2

Here is Part 2 of Chapter Four. It's a long chapter, and I had to break it up in the middle (the oddest thing interfered- namely my life). So, a day late, here is Part 2! Send in the reviews!  
  
" SHOWTIME!"  
  
Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters thereof.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Through a Mirror Darkly  
  
Part 2  
  
As Mr. Weasley was having his heart jerked out of his chest, Neville Longbottom floated on the bottom of a water tank inside Kingsley Shacklebolt's room and brooded.  
  
He didn't know what to think of his new-found powers- and what he was doing with them. He weighed the decisions like one would weigh two objects in the hands.  
  
One one side- what Neville thought of as his right-hand side- he was far more powerful than he'd ever dreamed. He was no longer a joke to anyone; instead of being the boy who couldn't cast Stupefy to save his life, he was a Water Warlock, lord of the seas. Capable of controlling the cold and the waters about him- and the creatures which lived in it. He'd spent several pleasant hours conversing with the merfolk about Hogwarts Castle, and discovered that the giant squid was very intelligent- smarter, in fact, than the merfolk themselves. With it's help, Neville had discovered a new entrance into Hogwarts- one hidden in the moat. He had memorized it's location- he could enter it anytime. Harry had been very pleased with the discovery, emitting that strange laugh of his when told.  
  
Thinking of memorizing the hidden door would have brought a smile to Neville's face, if he hadn't been a fish at the moment. Water was the element of memory and time, and because of it's influence on him, he had now discovered he could memorize things now. It was much more pleasant to remember things on your own without using a Remembrall.  
  
And last of all (but nowhere near least), he was SOMEBODY. That last seemed almost more important than his need for revenge. Harry had been organizing the Black Tide recently, and many new positions had been created. Neville had been given two positions; General Commander of Elemental Magicks, and Member of the Ebony Flame, the special group whose main job was protecting Harry Potter. This meant that, in the new army that was forming, he was a major mover and shaker.  
  
But... not everything was right. On the bad- or left-hand side- of his situation was the fact that what he was doing was wrong. He knew this as instinctively as a dog knows to bark at strangers. He would hear his grandmother's voice in his mind at times, shouting, " You are a disgust and a disgrace to your family!" Neville didn't like it, but he knew that voice was right.  
  
And Harry Potter had changed. Ever since Umbridge died (which Neville had no problem with; that woman had deserved to die) he was different. His laughter, before the normal laughter of a teenager, was now edged with something dark. Neville would have believed Harry was insane if he didn't know different.  
  
He felt vibrations in the glass about the water. Someone was coming- a big someone, from the feel. Neville pushed the thoughts away- Shacklebolt was arriving.  
  
[ Your oath,] Neville thought to himself, as Kingsley Shacklebolt prepared to open the door to his room one last time, [ Above all else, remember your oath and honor it.]  
  
Neville's fish body seemed to sigh. [ Yes, Neville,] he thought.  
  
[ Remember your oath.]  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped into the room just as Neville was thinking these thoughts. He looked about, saw nothing unusual (not noticing the little fish in his aquarium that hadn't been there this morning) and went over to the shelf he kept his antidotes in. As luck would have it, this shelf was directly across from the hiding place of Neville Longbottom. Neville concentrated. Water rose out of the aquarium, and as Neville bent it to his will, it formed a long shaft about 3 feet long. It froze into ice instantly, with a "snick!" sound.  
  
Shacklebolt, his ears tuned to all noises around him from his long history as an Auror, whirled around. His turn was just quick enough for the spear of frost to enter the front of his chest and explode out the back, showering his shelf with blood.  
  
Neville's fish body leaped out of the water, changing to human as it went. The fish body sprouted a blue cloak and when Neville landed, he was human. The last part to form was the pendant on his chest, the symbol of Water- a dark, sea-blue sapphire.  
  
He looked at the body for a moment, shook his head, and stepped out, speaking five words as he went, a epitath for the tombstone the room had become:  
  
" I will remember my oath."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Some distance from the final resting place of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Cho Chang waited, invisibly, for Lucius Malfoy to arrive. Like Neville, she, too, was brooding.  
  
But for her, there were few negatives in her new position.  
  
Cho Chang had intended to become an Enchanter even before meeting Harry- it was a family business. Her mother had called it, " the art of magic," and Cho firmly believed that. She had loved watching her mother painstakingly carve a rune- on anything, be it wood, metal, or fabric- and then watching the enchantment work. Her mom had once enchanted a chair to fly, and little Cho, who was five at the time, had clapped and laughed almost till she cried.  
  
Now Cho thought she had all she could ever want. She had access to hundreds- thousands!- of runes, and Harry had given her complete freedom to carve them. She had the resources now- not grand by Ministry standards, but enough- to carve runes as she desired. She could even use the ones the Ministry had forbidden- everything was hers!  
  
And best of all, she had Harry. He was so sweet- so great. To her, he was the epitome of a man- and he loved her too (unbeknownst to her- and Harry meant to keep it that way- Cho Chang rather disgusted him, as he hadn't really done much and she was head-over-heels for him, ready to do whatever he said.)  
  
All in all, if you could get over a little unpleasantness like what was going to happen tonight, she thought, life was grand.  
  
At that point, Lucius Malfoy stepped in, wearing his traditional black cape and carrying his staff. Eerily similar to both Neville and Ginny before her, all of Cho Chang's thoughts left her, and she waited for him to come closer before making her move. An enchanted knife- one she had made herself, and christened " Everedge"- was held in her hand, the way a fencer holds his sword. Lucius looked about, and cursed under his breath.  
  
" Damn that man! Where is he?"  
  
Looking about, he finally went over to the chair that Cho had hidden in front of. Holding Everedge in front of her, she lifted the cloak up just as he finished sitting down.  
  
" Harry Potter sends his greetings," she said, exactly as her love had told her. She jabbed Lucius in the throat, Everedge splitting the flesh and muscles there as easily as a hot knife through butter. Blood spurted between the edges of the flesh.  
  
" Wha- ugh..." was all Lucius could manage as blood poured out of his wound.  
  
" And my love," she continued, whispering and leaning in close over the dying Death Eater, " will give the same greetings to your master."  
  
She broke out laughing, the high-pitched laughter of a girl in love.  
  
Some distance away, Harry heard her, and smiled.  
  
Maybe she wasn't so useless, after all.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Each Black Tide member escaped through predetermined routes. Neville turned into a fish and swam out through the Ministry's water supply; Ginny was already gone, having entered the darker planes of existence with her demon master to learn Necromancy. Cho used Harry's invisibility cloak to sneak out without being detected- her goal was a guard post that several other Black Tide members were stationed at. They would draw the guard off with a distraction, and she would proceed through unnoticed by his special powers of surveillance. Harry, who required no such help, had merely stepped into shadow and reappeared in the shadow of a huge oak within the Dark Forest, where the Black Tide was currently staying.  
  
As he stepped out, he looked around. All about him lay various tents- the abodes of his Black Tide. Inside each, he could see the members. Seamus, who had become Captain of the Marauders ( what Harry planned on being the rank and file members of his army) was talking with some, apparently creating different classes of soldiers. A snatch drifted over to him:  
  
" We need a group dedicated to those new weapons Harry brought us- the Muggle ones- flamethrowers, I think he called them. Cho Chang and her group have finished enchanting them, and so I'm creating a special group dedicated to them. You're the first of them. And about the name..."  
  
" Purgers!" someone yelled.  
  
" Yeah! We'll burn and purge this world anew for Harry Potter, the Jester King!"  
  
Harry burst out laughing at this. [ They've nick-named me,] he thought, between bursts of his laughter. [ The Jester King?]  
  
He continued laughing as he approached. The boy who had shouted out the words " Jester King" quailed now, apparently scared he'd offended Harry.  
  
" S-Sir, I didn't mean a-any disrespect," he said, stammering and shaking.  
  
" None taken," Harry said, still giggling slightly. " I like it. The Jester King! An excellent name, young man. Who are you?"  
  
The soldier spoke quickly, quite clearly excited at having said something Harry enjoyed. " My name is Terry Boot, sir."  
  
Harry thought for a moment. Ah, yes, he remembered now... he had been at Harry's first meeting with the Sorting Hat, so long ago.  
  
" Well, then, Sir Boot, I think Jester King is a perfect name for me. And Purgers," he said, including them all in the sweep of his gaze, " is also a perfect name for this group."  
  
They all nodded enthusiastically. " And, everyone," he said, finishing with a little conceit of his own, " remember! We are the Black Tide, the force that will sweep away all things! We will cover this land! Remember!"  
  
They all cheered loudly as Potter left.  
  
He chuckled again, and looked into the night sky. The moon was full, and gazing on the world as it had for centuries.  
  
Harry's chuckling burst out once more in full-fledged laughter. The thought that sparked this outburst was this:  
  
[ Even you, old one, have never seen anything like me.]  
  
[ And you never will again.]  
  
-Well, that was a long chapter! It was huge, so I simply split it in two. Next chapter: An enemy of the Black Tide appears, the Black Tide begins to sweep across the land, and Harry pays a visit to the Dursley's house... 


	6. The Tide Rises Part 1: The Dursleys

Once more, we have an update! I'm churning these out ninety-mile a minute, boys and girls! On most of my stories, I'm rather slow... but this one just comes to mind as easy as pie. Probably because I love the idea...  
  
This is Chapter 5. Once more, it is split into two parts: this is part 1, the Dursleys. So, it's.....  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Legalities: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters thereof (who I haven't killed yet, anyway :).  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
Chapter Five (REVISED)  
  
The Tide Rises   
  
Part One  
  
The Dursleys  
  
Harry glanced about himself in the Great Hall- he had created it by using his magics to bind the various trees in the Dark Forest into an arch, and the result was quite impressive. Harry thought it added a nice touch to the meetings, lending an air of awe to the audience which he found quite helpful.  
  
Harry's glance noted the Purgers. It was a week since they'd first met on the day Cornelius Fudge died (along with several others) and they were barely recognizable. Each of them, standing in five lines of ten, were bedecked in the orange suit and hoods made from wyvern's hide that kept them from being burned. Each of them had gloves of sharkskin that allowed them to grip their weapons. And in each hand, they held their Skullmakers. These weapons had started life as flamethrowers, but now the only thing that would recall that ancestor was the fire pack, mounted now underneath their suits. A lance had been used as the firing end, and the tip slowly dripped a combustible material. When they concentrated, the Purgers could fire long, acidic streams of flame from these lance tips. The fire would consume almost anything short of a dragon- and even they would be burnt from the fires. Terry Boot, who Harry had instituted as their commander, wore a sweeping helmet that had dragon wings emitting from the sides. He stood at the front of them, clearly pleased to be leading them into their first battle.  
  
Alongside them, over a hundred strong, were the black-armoured Marauders. The Marauders were Harry's terror squad- hit and run specialists- who would be the first to attack. The Marauders no longer had any recognizable wands- instead, they packed odd, curved swords. In wizard warfare, wands were a liability- they were fine for dueling, but when it came to real, open warfare, wands weren't good enough- the most they could do was pick on single targets at short ranges. The swords of the Marauders allowed them to cast their spells over a wide area, simply by swinging them while casting (the curved blade caused the spell to spread out). And when they got close enough, the swords wree wonderful tools to chop heads off with. Seamus, who led them, wore black armor with runes engraved all about it to ward off magic. He had the grim, satisfied look of a man who has just seen his worst enemy die quite horribly.  
  
And beside them were the assorted magicians, with their leaders in front of them. The Elementalists, led by Neville Longbottom, wore the robes of their orders and carried staffs. Each staff had a gem representing the owner's Element- sapphire for Water, ruby for Fire, emerald for Earth, and diamond for Air. Neville himself wore an enormous sapphire on the front of his sea-blue robe. He looked resigned, as if he didn't like what he was doing, but would do it anyway.  
  
Harry nodded his head while overlooking his army. They were mighty, indeed. But they still lacked something... a something that tonight would provide.  
  
He smiled at that. Ah, yes... this last week had been so- entertaining...  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Hogwarts had been shut down the day after Fudge had died. If the Ministry had any idea how much this would help Harry, they would have walked through hellfire to keep it operating.  
  
The now-released students, who actually knew more of the situation then anyone else did, had split into two camps. Over a thousand people had joined the Black Tide- those disillusioned with the Ministry, Harry supposed. They had swelled his ranks quite nicely.  
  
However, another portion, almost as large, had followed Ron, Hermione, and the former D.A. to Durmstrang, of all places. Hermione's boyfriend, Viktor Krum, had arranged to let them stay there. They were calling themselves the White Shore, in opposition to Harry's Black Tide.  
  
The two armies had yet to battle, but Harry was moving north. His first target:  
  
Privet Drive.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The early morning of August 27. 3:00 in the morning.  
  
The day the war began.  
  
The day the Black Tide began to rise.  
  
Every person in Privet Drive and the surrounding area- those few who lived, anyway- reported that their first indication of something wrong was a hellish laugh.  
  
A laugh that began a nightmare.  
  
Harry's men had secreted themselves in alleyways to wait for the signal. They would then strike- and most of their victims would still be asleep.  
  
Seamus had hidden himself across from a nondescript little house. He had been personally assigned this job- Harry wanted the denizens of the house alive. Unbeknownst to him, this was the Dursley house.  
  
He was in contact with his men through his helmet- Cho Chang's Enchanters had enchanted it to allow contact with his captains. He talked to them now.  
  
" Hey! Spithe! Vicks! It starts now! Did you get the signal?"  
  
Spithe, a mile away to the east, nodded. " Yep. Ready to go."  
  
Vicks, a young Ravenclaw student before the Tide became his life, also nodded, a mile west of Seamus. " Yeah. I heard it."  
  
Seamus cracked his knuckles and grabbed his sword. " Then what are you waiting for? ATTACK!"  
  
Vicks and Spithe looked at their men, looked towards their targets, and yelled one word together, two miles apart:  
  
" CHARGE!"  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Those who weren't woken by Harry's laughter were soon woken by the sound of breaking doors and windows... and by the screams of the dying.  
  
Spithe's soldiers were charging into houses any way they could- and proceeding to slaughter the inhabitants. The Muggles who woke up were soon struck down.  
  
One man jumped up as a Marauder came through his window and raised his arm- just in time to get it sliced off. He screamed, and then the Marauder cut his head off, gore going everywhere from the stump of his neck.  
  
A woman , trying to find the source of the commotion at her door, opened it in time to see the Purger outside let loose with his Skullmaker. She burst into flames as the hellish stream touched her.  
  
An old couple, running down the stairs, were killed together as a Marauder let loose with a spell and swung his sword, causing a purple dust to fill the air in an arc. The dust shattered everything it touched, including the old man's neck and the old woman's skull.  
  
One particularly brave police officer took his shotgun and ran towards a scream he had heard. He raised it to fire at a Earth Elementalist who was passing nearby- the woman who he had just impaled on a spear of stone was behind him. The elementalist raised his staff and spoke a single word- and the man petrified instantly. A moment later he shattered.  
  
Some distance away, a Fire Elementalist raised his staff and arms and began to chant. Soon, the sky was raining flaming meteors down upon the populace. Screams rang out of a nearby hospital as a meteor hit it, blowing out the entire third floor. The building soon fell in upon itself, crumpling floor by floor.  
  
And on Privet Drive, Seamus walked onto the lawn of the Dursleys.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Inside, the Dursleys had been awoken by the laughter and were cursing.  
  
" What the hell was that?" Mr. Dursley screamed, his mustache twitching.  
  
Mrs. Dursley looked around, and saw Seamus outside. She screamed, as people are wont to do when black-armored, sword-bearing soldiers appear on their doorsteps.  
  
Mr. Dursley rushed for his wife and reached her just as Seamus cast his spell and the door exploded inward. Mr. Dursley, who thanks to restrictive British laws and policies on guns did not own one (COULD not own one), had nothing to strike him with. Were the laws different, things may have turned out better- even magical armor has trouble repelling bullets, and wizards die as easily as humans. But this is how things went.  
  
Seamus stepped inside and looked around. Dudley had just walked to the bottom of the stairs, and the muscular boy was quite obviously scared shitless.  
  
[ That's him,] Seamus thought.  
  
He looked at Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, and said, " Are you the Dursley family?"  
  
They nodded. Mr. Weasley began, " If this is something to do with Potter.."  
  
Seamus laughed at this, completely non-plussing Mr. Dursley. " Oh, I assure you that Harry has everything to do with this," he said, still chuckling slightly. " But I doubt you have any idea HOW he has to do with this."  
  
Still chuckling, he raised his sword, said a word, and swung it at them. A red dust seemed to settle on the Dursleys.  
  
When it touched them, blood suddenly began pouring out of their bodies from every available orifice- their mouths, ears, nose, and even their eyes were filled with blood. They fell over, twitching, as their life blood spilled onto the floor. Soon, they resembled nothing more than shriveled bags, and gallons of their blood had coated the floor.  
  
Dudley shrieked, and (coherent thought gone for the moment), charged Seamus. Seamus waved his sword, spoke " Immobilius Aegis!" contemptedly, and Dudley stopped dead, frozen in time. He could only watch and hear.  
  
And hear he did, for laughter suddenly poured into the house. It went on for several minutes, until the house itself seemed to be laughing, pouring in the windows and the frame where the door used to stand.  
  
Harry stepped in, the Jester. He stepped into the blood, and reached down to dip his finger in it.  
  
" Oh yes," he said, sounding quite cheerful, " I always dreamed of seeing them dead. And now that it's happened, it's just as sweet as I imagined it." Turning to Seamus, he added, " Damn good work, Seamus. Now, go help Spithe- some police have holed up in the station and are shooting at him and his men. Round up some Elementalists and take them down."  
  
Seamus nodded, said " Sir," and left.  
  
Harry turned once more to Dudley, who was so scared now that he almost passed out- but the spell on him prevented that. As it was, it would have been a blessing.  
  
" Dudley," Harry began, " do you remember all those times you would torture me? You made my life a living hell. And now, I want to return the favor." He leaned over into Dudley's face, staring him in his fear-widened eyes. Dudley stared back at the hellish mask before him and felt his sanity leaving him.  
  
" You made a game of it, you know," Harry said, whispering now. " I remember once when you used a needle and kept stabbing me with it. You said you'd sew my mouth shut if I ever said anything." From behind his back, Harry pulled out a needle. " I'm not going to sew your mouth shut- it's not enough to pay you back in any way- but I am going to sew you up..."  
  
Harry laughed, and in his mind, Dudley screamed.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
A month later...  
  
Several weeks of partying went on afterward- the Black Tide had not lost a single soldier, and Privet Drive (plus about ten miles of surrounding area) was a wasteland. Better yet, the Ministry response wasn't to go after the Tide, but to try and Memory Charm every single person who left the attack zone! Dumbledore was calling for finding and attacking the Tide, but the Ministry was still inclined to ignore him. The Prophet was wondering who the attackers were, and theorized it was Death Eaters. This gave Harry quite a kick- he had it posted in the Meeting Hall. The Black Tide was ecstatic over it's first victory, and they had every right to celebrate. Seamus, in particular, seemed happy over the battle. Every night he could be found, drinking the firewhisky that had been bought at Diagon Alley ( Harry's fortune had been a wonderful asset to the Tide) in the bar they had built. The Black Tide's Headquarters in the Dark Forest had even been named by Seamus- Oceania. Harry had made it official- after all, what name was better for a Tide?  
  
And even better, Ginny was back. She had finished her training as a Necromancer, and now she had returned. Around her neck, with a gold chain going through it's eyes, was the skull of Arthur Weasley. Although physically she was the same (minus the leather wings on her back), she radiated an aura of physical coldness.  
  
All this pleased Harry. But what pleased him best was what he had done to Dudley.  
  
Dudley was kept in a laboratory, underneath the new building that had been built for Cho Chang's Enchanters, that only Harry, Cho, and the best Enchanters could enter. Inside was a large room, with chains coming out of the walls. In the middle was Dudley- or what he had become, at any rate.  
  
Harry had kept his promise to sew Dudley up. He had, in fact, created an entirely new body for Dudley, using an enchanted needle of bone and string made from the sinews of a dragon. The arms, torso, and legs were those of a giant that had been found in the Dark Forest ( Harry didn't know it, but it was Hagrid's giant half-brother, Grawp, he had killed to get these parts.) Onto one shoulder of the giant's body, Harry had sown on the mouth of an Earthbiter- one of the great, toothed wyrms that live in the hills of Ireland. This mouth moved constantly, snapping and snarling, venom dripping out in long drools. Onto the back, he had sown a dragon's head- the white, snarling head breathed icey cold air that could freeze a man's blood solid. A manticore paw- long claws twitching- had been sown onto the right side of the monstrosity. One giant fist held an enormous ball and chain. The right fist held a enormous meat cleaver.  
  
Dudley's head had been removed- with Harry's magic keeping him alive during the process- and sown onto this horrific body. Dudley's mind still existed- but it didn't control this new body. He could do not but watch and feel.  
  
Harry created a new mind to actually run this creature, with Ginny's help. Calling forth a elemental of pain and giving it a host, the body gained movement.  
  
Harry named him, " Whipstitch."  
  
- There you go. For those of you who have played Warcraft 3, you probably noticed a resemblance between Dudley/Whipstitch and the Abominations. I got the idea for Dudley's death from them.  
  
So! Review me, faithful readers! Part 2 will arrive soon! 


	7. The Tide Rises Part 2: Fate's Game

LEGALITES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
Well, here's Part 2 of Chapter Five. On the last chapter- like my update stated, I originally planned to have Dudley's memory erased- and, as my kind reviewer Mystical Witch pointed out, doesn't that obliterate the entire idea of torturing the little shit? So I came up with an idea- what if one of Ginny's servants (being a necromancer, lesser demons obey her) took over the body? So I changed the chapter a bit. Just goes to prove that you, my faithful reviewers, DO make a difference (or at least let me come up with a difference ;).  
  
Here's Part 2- and its....  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter Five  
  
The Tide Comes In  
  
Part 2  
  
Fate's Game  
  
Albus Dumbledore sat in his favorite chair at Hogwarts (which was mostly empty, save for a few teachers still around), and wondered what went wrong. The-Boy-Who-Lived...  
  
was now the Jester.   
  
He shook his head. What had gone wrong? He remembered the prophecy, the one that Professor Trelawney had delivered to him, that night so long ago- was it meaningless now? How could Harry Potter destroy Voldemort- when Harry himself was just as evil now?  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. The only thing to think was that maybe Trelawney had been wrong. He'd have to hang his hopes on that. He could have chosen to think that Neville Longbottom was the boy in the prophecy, but that was no good either. Neville was one of his commanders now.  
  
Dumbledore heard someone talking below him. That in itself put him on his guard- everything did nowadays- but it was just Trelawney.  
  
[Speak of the Devil,] he thought to himself. Aloud he said, " Come in, Prof. Trelawney!"  
  
Trelawney entered, and instead of attempting a mystical voice (which privately annoyed Dumbledore) she said flatly, " He's moving."  
  
" He who?" Dumbledore said, attempting to be cheerful, but he had a feeling that only two beings rated a "he" in the wizarding world- Voldemort to all, and Harry to those few who knew the truth.  
  
" Harry Potter," she said. " He's coming to take Hogwarts down. Every bit of it. He'll tear it apart, stone by stone. And he'll use the spare parts to build his own castle- the Jester's Keep."  
  
" Did you foresee this?" Dumbledore said, alarm rising in his mind. He knew that Harry Potter was not a joke, and Trelawney wouldn't lie about this.  
  
" Yes." she stated simply. Then she screamed.  
  
" What?" Dumbledore said, running to her side.  
  
" He's here," she whispered.  
  
And both of them heard the laughter, rolling out in the light of day, that seemed to suck the heat right out of the room.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Harry had tried to think of everything that could attack Oceania, and other than rampaging bands of centaurs (and, of course, Aragog's hordes of spider children- but that was a separate matter entirely), he could only think of one thing-  
  
Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore.  
  
He had brooded on how to get rid of them, when Neville Longbottom told him of the hidden way in through the moat. Harry had been very pleased at this news- he had been as happy as a hog in shit, as the saying goes.  
  
But he waited.  
  
He had to- Dumbledore was a infamously tough cookie, and Harry had few intentions of striking Hogwarts with a rookie army that couldn't tell it's pants from it's shirt. They needed a little real world combat experience first.  
  
He wasn't going to think of Privet Drive- as he thought of the battle they had fought- as any kind of real battle, but it worked as a training exercise.  
  
The battle had done many things, mostly working out the first battle jitters every green soldier gets. Now that that was over, he saw men parading with little jester hat insignia's on their shoulder plates- indicating how many they had killed.  
  
Quite amusing, really.  
  
Now came the real battle.  
  
Harry stood up from his throne, and called Seamus Finnigan. When he arrived, Harry spoke two words, which Seamus would forever remember as the words that sealed his fate and made the dark bud inside him (one that had been growing ever since the battle- the slaughter- at Privet Drive, one that enjoyed the killing and had been nurtured by the alchohol) bloom into an obsidian rose-  
  
" It's time."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Inside the tent that served as Harry's Headquarters- at least until the Jester's Keep was finished, anyway- several objects- mostly maps and parchments- were cluttered around. Two of these were maps of the Dark Forest- one of from previous Ministry surveys, another a more detailed Dark Forest map that had been made by Black Tide scouts. A long table in the middle now held a third map that showed a hand drawing of Hogwarts that included the hidden entrance. The plans Harry, Seamus, and Neville had been working on this past week were laid out upon this table alongside it.  
  
Seamus looked at the map, then looked up. " Harry, to put it bluntly, this still doesn't seem like a good plan to me."  
  
Harry nodded. Seamus had become a good strategist, and he was listening to him. " What's the weak points? What do you see?"  
  
Seamus pointed down at the map. " Let me run the whole thing through, and then I'll show you the bad spots." When Harry nodded, he continued. " That Whipstitch thing and a company of Marauders and Purgers attack the front gate, with Ginny leading- they work as the distraction. Good. Me and the rest of the Marauders take the hidden entrance. The entrance is under the water, but Neville and his Elementalists will cast spells on us so we can breathe and the equipment doesn't get wet- no problem. Me and my men enter the entrance and it's tunnel, and we kill anything in our way while we go through Hogwarts- also good. But here's where the shit hits the fan- we have to get to Dumbledore's room and kill him. No offense, but damn unlikely- you know how powerful he is. Even if I had that Whipstitch thing you made fighting too, it'd be a hell of a lucky break to wound Dumbledore, much less kill him."  
  
Harry nodded. He'd figured the answer to that one out himself. " I thought as much. I'm going with you."  
  
Seamus raised an eyebrow. " Really? That wasn't in the original plan... but are you certain you can take Dumbledore out?"  
  
Harry grinned at him, and Seamus (managing to hold onto his courage) looked back, his feet blocks of ice and his heart hammering. Harry could smell his fear, but he was holding his ground- mightier men would have backed away. He had a lot of guts, that one. Harry liked that in him. Harry gave him a break and looked at the map and Seamus was visibly relieved.  
  
" Yes, with you and your men behind me, I'm sure I could kill Dumbledore," he said. " The only other change- Ginny isn't leading the main gate charge. Cho Chang is. Ginny is coming with us- she has a special job inside the castle we discussed last night."  
  
Seamus nodded. Harry waved his hand across his face, and instantly the Jester was in his place.  
  
" Let's go," Harry said, behind his hellish mask.  
  
They walked off, and the plans on the table flapped slightly as wind from the flap in the tent pushed it, and then was still.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Dumbledore's thoughts were very troubled, so he did not register the slight shaking in the ground until he heard quick, rapid steps up the stairs.  
  
" Dumbledore!" Prof. McGonagall cried, out of breath from running. " The Black Tide! It's here! And at the front gate!"  
  
Dumbledore jumped out of his reverie and began dressing quickly. From the corner of the room, he summoned his wand with "Accio Wand!" and was about to run down the stairs when an enormous BOOM reverberated throughout the entire building. From the front came the sound of some creature screaming in pain- sounded like a human boy. Behind it was the roar of some monstrous thing.  
  
" Harry, what have you done?" Dumbledore whispered to himself as he followed McGonagall down the stairs.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Outside, Whipstitch was pounding the ancient door into sawdust with his ball and chain. The weapon- enchanted with runes that glowed bright blue on the black ball and chain- hammered into the door, and at each blow, it began to give a little. Cho Chang, who was riding the hellish monstrosity's shoulder, was laughing as she ordered it to attack.  
  
" Again!" she cried to it. On it's body, near the other shoulder, Dudley's face screamed as the horror- the absolute horror- of what he was now a part of drove his sanity from him. The demon spirit that had possessed the body (with Ginny's help) roared it's battle cry. The dragon's head and the Earthbiter's jaw beneath Cho let out their own cries. Behind it, the company of Marauders and Purgers raised their weapons and began chanting.  
  
" AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!" they cried, eagerly anticipating this battle.  
  
Before the fight inside the castle began, a fight outside it was about to start.  
  
Hagrid- a bit black and blue from his dealings with the giants and trying to teach his brother Grawp (who was now quite dead)- was standing with his crossbow in one hand and Fang beside him. His face was twisted in black rage. Behind him, centaurs marched out, their hooves beating time on the ground.  
  
Hagrid had recognized Grawp's form, and although he didn't know how, he knew that they had used his brother in Necromancy, an art so dark even Voldemort would barely use it.  
  
" The bastards," he whispered, and then to the centaurs he cried, " NOW! Charge now! Kill them all!"  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Meanwhile, in the moat, an army four times the size of the ones at the gate were swimming towards the hidden entrance of Hogwarts. Neville, in the form of a giant squid, was guiding them. The moat's own giant squid acknowledged him with a flick of tentacle, and then was gone. Soon, this odd company found a hole inside the moat's rim, covered by a decorated door. Neville opened this door with a tentacle, and the army went in, silent as death's gliding wings. In the front, a grin spreading on his face, Seamus Finnigan- who in later years would be called the "Black General" by his enemies- swam forward, whispering two words to himself:  
  
" It's time."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Hagrid's army would have had the element of surprise had a Purger not saw them and screamed out loud:  
  
" Centaurs! They've brought CENTAURS!"  
  
The entire army turned about. Soon, the field in front was a wall of flame as the Purgers opened up their Skullmakers. Many centaurs, unable to stop their forward momentum, were burned alive by the flames- those that tried to stop were thrown forward by their onrushing brethren.  
  
Some slid through the sheet of death and rushed forward. Although the Black Tide had no spears to use against them, they had a very talented Earth Elementalist among them named Padma Parvati. She had raised her staff when she saw them, and then hammered it down. Instantaneously, hundreds of rocky spires erupted from the ground, and what centaurs dodged the fire were impaled on the spears. Despite these defenses, a few centaur got through, and they were soon killed by sword and spell- but not without the Black Tide taking a few losses.  
  
Hagrid himself turned out to be the biggest problem. He was shooting and reloading his crossbow very quickly, and the spells the Black Tide threw at him simply bounced off his giant skin (they didn't want to risk close-quarters battle with the enraged half-giant). The only spell to get through was Padma's- she had launched a gravity-enhancing spell that slowed him down for a while.  
  
It wasn't long- maybe 15 seconds- but it was enough time for Cho to guide Whipstitch to Hagrid.  
  
" Thought you'd like to see your big brother!" Cho taunted, laughing from her position atop the monstrosity. " He's soooo glad to see you!"  
  
Hagrid snapped, and the weak hold Padma's spell had on him slipped off.  
  
" I'LL KILL YOU!" he shrieked- right before he was struck by the ball and chain. He was knocked down, and Fang ran up to help, only to get his face melted off when the Earthbiter mouth spat it's acidic drool on him. He died quickly, as his brain fried and vital circuits disconnected.  
  
Hagrid struggled up- the blow had been fierce, and he hadn't been in great shape to start with- and was on his knees when the dragon head turned to him and spat a wave of freezing ice on him. He was instantly frozen to the ground, and the manticore paw struck his hand, tearing the crossbow from it. He howled in pain, struggling against the thick ice on his feet.  
  
A second later, the giant meat cleaver in Whipstitch's hand cut him in half, and his struggling ceased.  
  
Cho's voice filled the air with laughter.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Inside the keep, the soldiers found themselves outside the Slytherin house. Running down the corridors, they killed all in their way, with Harry and Seamus heading straight for Dumbledore while Ginny, Spithe, and Vicks were killing the teachers, their men right behind them. The tapestried halls rung out with screams as battle was joined.  
  
Trelawney screamed as a Marauder struck her with a spell, paralyzing her. Her mind's eye closed when he drove his sword into it, right between the eyes. Her last thought was [the prophecy was wrong...]  
  
Mrs. Sprout, who had been using the school has a temporary home, was burned alive by a Purger who broke her door down with one good kick. She couldn't scream- the sudden fire had sucked in all the air in the room. Her four-post bed burned around her as she died, twisting in pain as her limbs melted in the heat.  
  
Nearby, Ginny was performing a strange rite on Peeves, with her two students beside her. These two would become Necromancers as well, and she was going to use the ghost's energy to create a bone charm that would empower them. She needed none; her father's dead skull had all the power she needed.  
  
Peeves' shrieks rang out as his very essence was ripped into and torn apart. Soon he disappeared like smoke in the wind- and a small, skull shaped charm hit the ground below where he had been. Ginny smiled, then hurried off, her student's running behind her winged back. After all, there were other ghosts to catch, and time was short.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Dumbledore and McGonagall were standing at the entrance to the Headmaster's Office when Seamus and Harry burst in. Glancing at McGonagall, Harry yelled, " Kill her!" to Seamus, and then ran towards Dumbledore, claws flashing in the air like twin sparkles of death.  
  
Seamus and McGonagall faced each other, and she quickly cast a Transfiguration spell on herself and transformed into a great, saber-toothed cat right in front of Seamus. He steadied his sword, and prepared to face her charge. She leaped straight at him, her fangs flashing- and then they were painted crimson, as Seamus had dropped to one knee and shoved his sword into her face, her momentum driving it into her upper jaw and brain, killing her instantly.  
  
Dumbledore and Harry fought up the stairs nearby, Harry slashing while Dumbledore fought back with his spells. Eventually, they reached the platform's top. Nearby lay the entrance to the Headmaster's office.  
  
" Run on inside," Harry said, folding his arms to his chest in the death pose, claws gleaming dully. " Run inside to die, like a coward."  
  
" No," Dumbledore said. " I do not run. I will trust Fate as I always have."  
  
Harry laughed at this. Even Dumbledore was slightly scared of his laughter.  
  
" Oh yes, hide behind everyone's favorite whipping boy," he snarled, his voice tinged with anger. " Fate that decides so much. Did you ever think that maybe there IS no Fate? That maybe we create our own fates- that we are our own masters? No, you didn't. And that, Dumbledore, is where you failed. You never hunted Voldemort- why? Because you believed that Fate, through me, would kill him. You never thought that maybe I wasn't the White Knight. You never really stepped in to help me in the worst times, and you left me at the Dursley house! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME?!?!?"  
  
With these words, Harry snapped. He flew in a rage across the room, but even in his anger he didn't forget Dumbledore's power. As Dumbledore summoned a spell that would rip Harry's body apart, Harry leaped and struck with his own magic, a lightning spell. Lightning was notoriously hard to control, and even the most skilled mages had trouble with it. Many sought to command it, however- because all forms of magic and enchantment were shattered by a single stroke of lightning. The lightning burst into Dumbledore and fried the protective enchantments on his robes. His spell fell apart as he suffered the bolt's power.  
  
Harry's leap took him to right above Dumbledore. He crossed his arms and struck quickly in a scissoring motion. Dumbledore's right arm, wand still clutched within, fell off with a sickening splat onto the ground. Dumbledore gritted his teeth and used his left hand to hit Harry with a spell that threw him against the far wall. Harry hit it and gasped for breath. Meanwhile, Dumbledore grabbed his severed arm with his left and put the two ends together. Chanting, he healed his wound and then turned to face Harry once more.  
  
Harry leaped up just as Dumbledore fired a hurricane at him. Running along the walls too quickly for Dumbledore to track, Harry slashed the air and repeatedly cast a spell that turned them to bolts of energy. These slashes appeared as green fire and descended towards Dumbledore, who blocked them with his own spells.  
  
Harry leaped off the wall and stood facing Dumbledore, both panting with exertion. Harry smiled under his mask.  
  
" For an old man, you're pretty strong," he said, his grin spreading. " But only magically, not physically..."  
  
Harry stood before Dumbledore and took his mask off. And Dumbledore could not draw breath as he gazed at what lay within.  
  
Inside Harry's mask, he did not see anything at first- only a view that looked like outer space. But then he started seeing faces. Faces screaming in torment. Faces that were joined by bodies, and then they were drifting towards him, reaching out to him with dead hands-  
  
Dumbledore's heart, old and weary with exertion, stopped beating, and he died almost instantly. When his body hit the floor, his eyes were leaking blood.  
  
Harry's laughter rang out over the slaughter of Hogwarts.  
  
- For those wondering about Harry yelling at Dumbledore for leaving him at the Dursleys, remember that this happens before the end of OoftheP, and he doesn't know about the protection spell. 


	8. Lines in the Sand

LEGALITES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR THE CHARACTERS THEREOF. THIS LAST DISCLAIMER IS INTENDED FOR THE FANFICTION AS A WHOLE, AND THE DISCLAIMER WILL NOT APPEAR IN THE REST OF THE FANFICTION ALTHOUGH IT WILL BE TRUE AT ALL TIMES UNLESS J.K. ROWLING SELLS THE RIGHTS TO ME, WHICH WILL HAPPEN ABOUT THE TIME THE FIRST PIG LIFTS OFF FROM THE GROUND ON LITTLE WHITE WINGS. IN SHORT, I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER.  
  
[]- Indicates thought. This goes for the whole fanfiction too; I'm tired of writing it.  
  
Hey people. This is the next chapter of Harry's Madness. No one gets killed in this installment (sorry, I know how much you love it ;) but it's quite informative. And I've got a new fanfic up- Falling Through Nightmare (Soul Caliber). It's a little collaboration between me and a friend. Read it when you can- review please.  
  
On a different note- to one of my reviewers (you know who you are)- Hagrid knew that Harry was behind the Black Tide. Everyone at Hogwarts knew about it, including the teachers. With them dead, however, no one except the White Shore and it's members really know the truth about the Tide (or even know it exists, for that matter).  
  
And to Mystical Witch (a faithful reviewer) I know that Oceania is the name of George Orwell's superstate in 1984. I didn't name the city after it, though; I thought of that later, after I'd decided on it. Quite fitting, though, isn't it?  
  
Well, that's it for the review section, so it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Lines in the Sand  
  
Harry stood on a hill in Oceania, a tall hill that was much higher than the surrounding forest. A month had passed since Hogwarts fell. Since then, there numbers had grown incredibly. Those students who had originally not cared about either group had suddenly shifted to one of the two alliances. The Tide had grown to almost five thousand people. It's banner- a black wave, curled and foaming at the top- flew from pennants all around the city of Oceania.  
  
The sounds of chopping and cutting were going on all around, with the occasional tree falling with a solid "whump". Harry's army was busy chopping down the Dark Forest tree by tree, clearing enough space to build a city. Harry planned on this being the site of his castle, the Jester's Keep. He gazed down now, looking at his workers. Already a lot of space had been cleared, but Harry wanted as much forest gone as possible. Keeping trees near a fortress was a great way to let spies watch you at will in their leaves, and Harry wasn't a fool.  
  
Wearing the black bands of the Tide on their forearms, the workers moved in the heat of the summer. Fall was coming soon, though, and an occasional chill breeze would blow through, reminding them to work quickly. They needed something far more permanent than tents when winter rolled around, and they set as strong a pace as they could. Everyone of them had either a staff or a axe. Those with axes were chopping the trees down; those with staves were either casting spells to chop them down, or using a levitation spell to lift them and move them to another group of workers. These were casting spells to split the wood into usable planks and boards. Already several buildings had already been erected, and more were under construction. The buildings weren't homes, however. Those would be built later.  
  
What buildings had already been made were what Harry deemed the most vital to the military. Two were watchtowers, and at the top of these wooden constructs two Marauders and an Elementalist stood guard. The towers were built on opposite sides of a road that Harry was planning on building in the winter. A gate would be erected between them soon. Each Marauder had a bow and arrow with them, and all were good shots. The Elementalist in each tower was equipped with staves. Padma stood watch in one, her Earth magics ready to wreck havoc on anything that approached. So far they had been busy; scattered groups of centaurs had attacked, and twice Aragog's children had rushed them. They'd lost a few men in the last battle with the spider beasts.  
  
The reason for Aragog's attacks was inside a strange, dome-shaped building that lay almost in the exact center of Oceania. Immediately inside the front door one was greeted with three windows. Looking straight ahead, the first thing one saw was a glass-enclosed room containing a bloated brood queen, a member of Aragog's race. Another room contained her much smaller mate, and in the third, pale eggs pulsated slowly. Aragog's race of giant spiders was different from most species; most of it's members were neither male nor female. They were sterile, which kept the race from overproducing and eating itself to death. Aragog was one of only three males in all the Dark Forest. Females were just as rare, and capturing these two had been one of the greatest triumphs of the Tide. Seamus himself had led the small army that had captured these two. A special set of runes that Cho Chang had personally drawn on the bloated egg-sac of the brood mother resulted in spider children that obeyed the commands of anyone wearing the matching rune-set, which Harry ordered carved on the armor of every member of the Tide. The first batch of spider servants were to be born the next spring. Harry couldn't wait for it.  
  
Another building, the oldest one in Oceania (it had been built two months before, when Harry had been creating Whipstitch) was the Enchanter's home. Inside were housed the blacksmithy and various tools for carving, drawing, and weaving the enchantments that were ordered by the Black Tide. Cho lived here, in a small tower above the two story building. Smoke was always pouring out from it's chimney, and heat rolled off of it like water from a lake.  
  
The last building here was the largest of them, easily three stories tall and spread out wide. Made of wood and some stone (scavenged from Hogwarts), the building was a combination barracks, supply depot, bar, and butcher shop. Dubbed simply "The Barracks," animals (hunted in from the Forest) were brought here and made into edible meals. Various supplies were stored here as well, as well as the bar (called the Laughing Mug) that Seamus frequented. A vault was contained within as well, guarding the treasures that the Tide had won. Four loyal guards protected this safe, deep within the Barracks.  
  
Several small houses were beginning to go up, and above it all sat the foundations of the Jester's Keep. Harry's fortress wouldn't be completed for at least another year (two, if they ran into trouble) but that was okay.  
  
He had time.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Hermione looked up into the night air. Cold... it was so cold at Durmstrang. No matter what time of year, Durmstrang was nothing but ice and frost and the biting wind. She shivered and bunched up her shoulders for protection.  
  
[Still,] she thought, looking on the bright side, [Harry and the Tide are far away from here.]  
  
And that was true. Harry's Black Tide was too far away to hurt them at Durmstrang. And here, she had Ron. She didn't do much in public with him, since Viktor might turn them out if he thought Hermione didn't like him, but in private...  
  
She smiled, thinking of him. She was starting to fall in love with him, and even though she thought it was bad timing on her part, she felt the way she felt. But thinking of him also made her sad. Ron had aged a lot in the past few days, matured and grown sadder, more adult. They all had, really. Ron had learned of his father's death from the Daily Prophet, and they all knew who had done it. Not Voldemort.  
  
Harry.  
  
Ron's tears had flowed when he saw the paper. He had went to his room and cried, his hand held to his eyes. Hermione had put her arms around him to comfort him, and his tears eventually trickled to a stop. Replacing them was rage.  
  
" Damn him!" he swore fiercely, whispering as Hermione held him. " Damn him! Why? How could you, Harry? We were friends..."  
  
His fist had clenched and unclenched constantly. His hatred of Harry became almost an obsession. He had taken up sword training, and every day could be seen practicing his thrusts and counters. He meant to pierce Harry's heart with his sword.  
  
Hermione herself had begun learning even more magic, skipping things like Arithmancy to learn more Defense against the Dark Arts spells. She had been training the White Shore (now consisting of five thousand members- neither Harry nor Hermione knew it, but they were now opposing commanders of equal forces) and she had also begun taking command classes at Durmstrang. The heads of Durmstrang had believed her, and with Fudge's death had withdrawn from the wider wizarding world. The resistance to Harry had to start here. They would have to face off, and soon.  
  
Hermione shivered again. The wind was cold. And on it, she could smell blood. 


	9. The Beginning of the End: The First Batt...

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]-INDICATES THOUGHT.  
  
Hello once again, fellow fanfiction.net readers! Silverlocke980 here. It's been a while between updates, but I was busy with my other two stories. Doing this makes me sympathize with any writers who have more than one fanfic going at the same time- it's one hell of a problem!  
  
Which brings me to a personal problem. I've been putting this question in my other fanfics as well, and I hope someone can help me. I'm a big fan of Big O (the anime series on Adult Swim Sundays, 11:00 p.m.) and I want some help (those of you who watch it have probably identified my "SHOWTIME!" quote). I have had trouble with the last few episodes. Here's my questions to anyone who happens to watch the show and review me:  
  
1. If Angel is a memory, then why does she appear human?  
  
2. Also, whose memory is she? Always assuming that we can trust the senile Gordon Rosewater on this matter. And if she's a memory, why does she remember her childhood?  
  
3. What happened forty years ago in Paradigm City? Any ideas?  
  
4. The biggest question I have so far involves the last new episode on Adult Swim. Schwarzvald's ghost took over the Big Duo from Alan Gabriel, and then he flew it upwards. Several scenes passed where the Big Duo was flying straight up into the sky, and then all of a sudden it starts showing rigging and lights, ENORMOUS rigging and lights, and then Big Duo flew into one and exploded. The light was bigger than Big Duo, to give you an idea of the size. So, my question, simply put, is what the hell is going on? What are all those lights doing up there? Is the entire world in a Paradigm-like dome?  
  
There's my questions. Anybody who watches the show should put their answers to my questions (as well as opinions, questions of your own, etc.) in a review. I'll add a review to my own story explaining my viewpoint and answering questions (plus thanking anyone who answers my own).  
  
Enough of that. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
  
  
Chapter 7  
  
  
  
Beginning of the End:  
  
The First Battle  
  
Ron stood up from his seat on a log by a fire. The soldiers of the White Shore, their silver armor glinting in the light of the fire, gathered about him. Those sitting down looked at him when he cleared his throat. He had become their leader, and when he spoke they listened.  
  
" Men," Ron began, his voice taking an authoritive tone, " tomorrow we meet the Tide. It's been a hard journey back to England. We have tried to alert the Ministry, but they will not listen. They refuse to aid us." Mumbled grumblings among the crowd at this. The Ministry's rejection had stung them badly. " But we do not stand alone. Durmstrang stands with us." Hearty cheers. The men had wintered at Durmstrang, and despite the bitter cold had enjoyed the chance to practice and train. They needed all they could of both to defeat the Tide.  
  
" Durmstrang's spies have recently found Harry moving south. He is heading towards France. He plans on taking over Beauxbatons and forcibly impressing the students there into his army. We have to stop him."  
  
Ron pulled out his broadsword from it's scabbard. It made a slight hiss as metal rubbed metal, and when it was free Ron used it to draw a map in the air with his magic. The map showed France and the surrounding area.  
  
" Madame Maxine has divulged the location of Beauxbatons to us," Ron continued, and on the map a glowing blue dot appeared near the northern area of France, next to the French Alps. " and we are now moving to defend it. We are here," another glowing dot, white in color, appeared about five miles west of Beauxbatons, " and Harry's army is here." A third dot, black in color and glowing ominously, appeared north of Beauxbatons. It was about 10 miles from the school.  
  
From the crowd around him, a soldier asked, " If Beauxbatons' location is secret, then how does Harry know where to go?"  
  
Ron shook his head. " That's the bad part. Harry had a spy in Beauxbatons, a girl he met in the Triwizard Tournament. Over the Christmas break she went back to Hogwarts to see how her fellow champion was doing. We aren't for sure what happened, but from the girl's diary, found in her room at Beauxbatons after she fled a week ago, we can guess. Apparently, an honor guard of Black Tide members greeted her at the rubble where Hogwarts once stood. She was taken through the Black Forest into Harry's main camp, which he is calling Oceania. There, she and Harry had a discussion that led to her being inducted into the Tide."  
  
" Her name is Fleur Delacour. She revealed the location of Beauxbatons to Harry, and in doing so gave Harry the lives of everyone in Beauxbatons on a silver platter."  
  
Shaking his head, Ron finished. " We will fight him here," he said, and a fourth and final dot appeared on the map. " We make our stand here, and hopefully it's the last one we must make."  
  
The men shivered as they looked at the map. The dot glowed red in the night. It pulsated slowly, as if in contemplation of something.  
  
It was death, waiting. And the question on their minds was, for who?  
  
The Tide? Or them?  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Harry's army got up before dawn and began packing. Most of the troops complained about the conditions. Travel through the French Alps, even for wizards, was unpleasant business. The wind was bitingly sharp, even in spring. Snow, remnants of the winter just past, clung to the peaks and made travel difficult.  
  
Harry woke up before dawn as well. He lay in his sleeping bag of fur, and he thought. He had waited all winter, building his strength, for this chance. It was now spring, and it was time for him to make his move. Beside him, in her own fur-covered bag ( although they were lovers, it was simply too cold to do much here, and they had separate bags) Cho Chang murmured sleepily. Harry looked at her and smiled. He had wondered about her at first, but she was a wonderful match. Harry didn't think of it as love- he seriously doubted he could feel love in his heart (and didn't care)- but it was still a very nice relationship. Cho complemented him well.  
  
[Besides,] Harry thought, getting out of his sleeping bag, [who better for my queen than someone as insane as I am?]  
  
The thought sparked Harry's laughter, and it echoed in the mountain. Cho woke up at the sound, and seeing that it was time to travel, got out of her bag. Sauntering over to Harry, she leaned her head on his shoulder and embraced him. Her hand drooped over his shoulder. She put her mouth to his ear.  
  
" When does it start?" she asked, her voice husky. Harry could hear the undertone of desire that flowed below it. He smiled. She wanted this battle too.  
  
" Soon," he whispered back, squeezing her hand on his shoulder. " Very soon."  
  
*************************************************************************  
  
Soon was right. The battle happened at 12:00 p.m. that day. Noon. A proper time for a showdown between the two armies.  
  
Hermione and Ron, having planned their defense of Beauxbatons by looking at past wizard battles, were waiting in an open field, swords, wands, and staves out. They were planning on meeting what they felt would be a blind charge by Harry.  
  
Unfortunately for them, Harry had other plans. Harry, who had never actually studied wizard history, looked to Muggle warfare for advice. And in this, at least, the Muggles were the geniuses and the wizards were the fools.  
  
There have been two recorded wizard "wars" that have raged across the world. Both were in ancient times. Both were also classic examples of bad leadership. Warfare was never quite developed by wizards, who tended to solve matters with one-on-one duels. Even the war against Voldemort was more of a guerilla style battle than real open warfare.  
  
Muggles, on the other hand, have fought with each other for centuries. They learned how to fight and wage war on levels that wizards weren't even close to. This is why Ron and Hermione expected a full-out charge in an open field. They thought Harry would throw all his forces at them. They readied a impressive defence of their front, but failed to do so well on the sides and rear. This mistake would soon be their undoing.  
  
Seamus, who Harry had chosen as a general, earned his nickname "The Black General" in this battle. Having studied Muggle Warfare under Harry's orders, he had struck on a brilliant idea. He split the army in four pieces, one led by him, and the two others by Spithe and Vicks. His unit would wait while Spithe led the smallest unit to attack the front. At this point, his army would attack from the west side, and at the same time Vicks would engage the enemy on the east side. The resulting pincer would trap the enemy in a crossfire. To keep anyone from leaving the south end, the last division, which was led by Cho and consisted almost entirely of Purgers, would then open fire on the bottleneck this created, burning any White Shore soldiers who tried to escape.  
  
Vicks and Seamus led off their portions while Harry stayed with Spithe. He wanted to attack from the front. He became the Jester, and then surveyed the battlefield. In the distance he could hear the sounds of an army approaching. Ginny landed beside him, her light feet pattering on the ground as her wings eased her down. She looked at him when he turned and said, " It's going to be a slaughter."  
  
" I hope so," Harry said.  
  
Ginny smiled and took to the air. Far away, she heard horns blowing. The battle was beginning.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Few soldiers of the White Shore escaped that day. It is regarded in wizard history as the moment that Harry revealed himself to the world, and also eliminated the threat of the White Shore for a while. It wasn't the end of the White Shore, but it was close.  
  
Harry's frontal assault was greeted with a hail of spells and arrows. The Marauders lifted their shields, shrieked their war cries, and struck back. Harry was in the middle of it all, claws flashing in the sun as he struck his foes. Beside him, a White Shore soldier was suddenly grabbed by the body of his companion. The zombie reached up to the screaming soldier's face and crushed it. In the air above, Ginny watched her new servant and laughed. Her high-pitched, girlish laughter rang clear over the battlefield.  
  
Ron and Hermione, both in the thick of things, noticed that the army wasn't big enough for what they'd guessed his strength at. Both were too preoccupied to worry about it much, though. If they had any idea what was coming next, they would have worried plenty.  
  
You see, the eggs of the brood queen Seamus had captured had hatched. The little spiders inside had grown enormous, almost as big as a horse and much stronger.  
  
Harry had designated a unit of Maruaders to ride them. The spiders responded quite ablely to this (the runes on the Marauders armor controlling them) and proved better than horses. What horse can climb walls, spin webs, and fight just as hard as it's rider? Harry called the spider-riding company the " Dusk Knights". The company rode with Seamus, who had mounted one himself. Riding these foul creatures, the Dusk Knights were the first soldiers to strike the western front of the White Shore. The soldiers, fighting Spithe's unit, never looked at them once while the Dusk Knights slaughtered them. On the east side, Vicks led his forces forward. And in the south, Cho rode upon Whipstitch's shoulder and urged her troops on.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The battle was horrific. One White Shore soldier, attempting to strike a wounded Marauder, was grabbed by a Dusk Knight's leaping spider. The creature's fangs, dripping venom, ripped into his shoulder and jerked him backwards. His jugular ripped open, the last thing his dying eyes saw was the monster's gaping maw, feeding upon his vital fluids.  
  
Another soldier was fighting Harry when several fallen soldiers about him grabbed his legs. He screamed and hacked at one's face. The zombie, undeterred by the loss of most of his skull, kept his hold. Harry ended the soldier's screams with his claws. Twin claw gashes were carved into the soldier's face and brain. He fell dead, and then rose up to join the fight. Ginny circled above him, a hellish vulture over a nightmare battlefield.  
  
Ron, who had seen the charging Dusk Knights by a lucky chance of fate, screamed for retreat. He, Hermione, and a small portion of the White Shore army escaped before Cho and her Purgers blocked the way. Those that followed were incinerated in the crimson streams of the Skullmakers. One unlucky soul, attempting to flee, was liquefied by a stream of Whipstitch's acid. Cho, who had taken a liking to Whipstitch and was riding him, laughed as the soldier's entire face sloughed off. Whipstitch roared from his multiple mouths, and Dudley, completely insane now, screamed with him.  
  
Viktor Krum, who had went as well, had far less luck than Ron and Hermione. He was attacked by Padma. Viktor threw his spear when he saw her casting a spell. The spear thudded into the ground not a foot from him. Padma had cast a gravity spell on it, drawing it to the ground. Her next spell sent a boulder from the ground streaking at Viktor. His entire body from the waist up was torn off from the force of the blow.  
  
Another soldier attempting to run from the battle was caught by the webbing of a Dusk Knight. The webbing tripped him, and it was all the time the Dusk Knight needed to stab him to death. His mount screeched loudly over the kill, and then rushed forward to the next opponent.  
  
Not that all the casualities were on the White Shore side. Terry Boot, who had had the unfortunately bad luck of being in Ron's way when he was retreating, had been sliced apart by Ron's whistling sword. His right arm and head fell away from his body, spurting blood. Terry's last thought was [My God, he moves so fast...] before his brain shut down for good. His body, minus a arm and head, stumbled about for a bit and then fell. Blood pooled all around it, pumped from a still-living heart.  
  
The battle lasted for two hours. At the end of it, Harry was triumphant. He gazed about himself. The only surviving White Shore members had either fled with Ron and Hermione or surrendered.  
  
He looked to Cho, still riding Whipstitch. Cho was laughing, and Harry laughed with her.  
  
" THEY ARE FINISHED!" Harry roared to his army.  
  
" TO BEAUXBATONS!" he continued.  
  
" ONWARD!" Seamus yelled, spurring his spider mount from it's latest kill and charging towards the school, now visible in the horizon. The army followed him, the slaughter of the past hours giving them new energy.  
  
In the air above, Ginny smiled. The Dream Blighter appeared before her again, and as she winged towards Beauxbatons, she heard it's voice in her mind.  
  
" AND SO IT BEGINS."  
  
She nodded towards it. " Yes, so it does."  
  
" HIS WILL BE THE SOUL THAT DAMNS ALL IN THIS WORLD."  
  
Ginny heard the Dream Blighter's laughter ring in the air around her.  
  
In front of her, Beauxbatons was rushing forward, as the future was. The future that was Harry Potter's.  
  
The future of the Jester. 


	10. The Rape of Beauxbatons

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF, NO MATTER IF I'VE KILLED THEM OFF, MUTATED THEM, OR ANY OTHER EVENTS THAT OCCUR WITHIN MY FANFIC.  
  
[]-Indicates thought (you should know this by now!:)  
  
*" "*- this indicates someone talking in a tongue separate from English. The astericks mark the beginning and end of the language switch.  
  
Hello everyone. Silverlocke980 here. This is Chapter 8, Harry's Madness! (despite the fact, of course, that fanfiction.net says it's Chapter 11...) I won't waste any time in a long intro, but I do have one thing to say:  
  
DOES ANYONE WATCH BIG O?!?!?!?!?  
  
Damn it, people! Try to send me a review if you do! I've tried everywhere! (sniffle) And apparently, no one has any idea what I'm talking about. Look through the four Big O questions in the last chapter of Harry's Madness, try to remember the answers or your opinions, and add a review about it. Do this for the sake of my sanity, okay?  
  
And on a secondary note, somebody in their review asked me about Voldemort. He's still around, but he has yet to make a move, biding his time. Voldemort has scattered reports that mention the Black Tide, but like most of the wizarding world, he doesn't know enough to do anything yet. He's also been very worried about Dumbledore's murder and Hogwarts' destruction. Although the Ministry blames it on him and the Death Eaters, he obviously knows better, and worries about anybody strong enough to kill Dumbledore and then reduce Hogwarts to rubble.  
  
And now, without further ado, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 8  
  
The Rape of Beauxbatons  
  
Beauxbatons, the second largest school of magic in Europe, stood at the foothills of the French Alps. The school for almost all southern Europe and the northernmost parts of Africa, Beauxbatons accommadated 8,000 students, a little under 2,000 students less than Hogwarts, which had been the largest school. It resembled Hogwarts to a great extent, but instead of four separate towers, it had only one. This was the Headmaster's Office from which Madame Maxine's owl had been sent three days ago, to the Ministry of Magic, seeking aid.  
  
The Ministry of Magic was still deaf to those (Percy Weasley among them) who told them that a new force had arisen. With Cornelius Fudge (it's head and leader) dead, and Albus Dumbledore (who could have convinced them) dead as well, the Ministry was too disorganized and confused to do anything. They didn't even believe the Black Tide existed. They believed that Death Eaters had destroyed Hogwarts.   
  
Their disbelief would spell the end of Beauxbatons as well. They had sent her owl back with a letter telling her to "calm down" and stop these "ridiculous observations." They particularly guffawed the part about Harry Potter leading an army. They all thought it a grand joke.  
  
Madame Maxine looked out her window from Beauxbatons single tower. Below her, those few teachers who would fight were getting killed. Cho Chang, riding Whipstitch (who she had gained a great fondness for), laughed as the monstrosity cut down another hapless teacher. One teacher was dragged away, kicking and screaming, by a Dusk Knight's spider. Another Dusk Knight rode up, and they tore the hapless man in half. Their mounts feasted upon his intestines as they spilled onto the ground. He was still screaming when they ripped his face off.  
  
Madame Maxine turned from the window. Her room was cluttered heavily, and an observer would be surprised at how much her office and Dumbledore's resembled. Pictures of headmaster's past hung on the walls, and without one exception they were all gloomy. Several were crying.  
  
Madame Maxine looked at her desk. On it was a device she had crafted when she heard that Harry was coming. By the gods, she wished she didn't have to do this. She went over to it and studied it for a moment.  
  
The device sat in the middle of the only clear spot on the desk, which was cluttered with parchments and oddities. The device was a sphere, perfectly round, set into a circular mount. It glowed blue, and the colors inside seemed to roll, like an ocean wave. It was beautiful.  
  
It was also deadly. The Ministry had outlawed these weapons for years. THey were called Shatterstars, and a single one could destroy hundreds of people in a blow. They disrupted the patterns of life and magic when activated, and the range could be from ten feet to ten miles. They made the atom bombs Muggles used look like firecrackers. This one wasn't an actual Shatterstar; she had created it with the help of her teachers, and it wasn't quite as powerful as a real Shatterstar. Still, it was powerful enough for what she needed it to do.  
  
She planned on completely destroying Beauxbatons with it. A single touch, one whispered word, and...  
  
" What are you doing around here?" said a female voice Madame Maxine remembered. She whipped around to look in a corner that had been bare moments ago. Anger lit her giantess face.  
  
" You! I'd haf thought' you would nefer haf shown your face 'ere again, Fleur!" she shouted at the figure before her.  
  
Fleur Delacour stood before her, in the corner of the room. Madame Maxine could only see her face, but that was enough to direct her hatred at, and her magic as well. She raised her wand towards the grinning face in front of her.  
  
Before she could strike, a loud flapping sound filled the room. Her hand suddenly exploded in gore, and before the crimson rush of blood removed it from sight, Madame Maxine saw three objects that looked like steel feathers imbedded in what was left of her hand. They had chopped off most of her fingers, and her wand fell to the floor, it's three pieces smoking. Madame Maxine screamed and clutched her wounded hand. In front of her, Fleur stepped out. Madame Maxine's eyes widened in horror as she saw what Fleur had become.  
  
Her face was unchanged, but below that point her body was covered in gray, metallic-looking feathers. Her hands were wicked claws, and two wings sprouted from her back. Her feet were talons. They clicked on the floor as she approached Madame Maxine.  
  
Madame Maxine scrambled backwards, trying to reach the Shatterstar. Fleur's smile never changed as she swept her wings forward, crossing them in front of her. She snapped them back, and now Madame Maxine identified that strange flapping sound. From the flapping wings four feathers, their edges sharper than any sword, shot out and buried themselves in the flesh of her things. Madame Maxine, hamstrung now and bleeding severely, cried out and crumpled to the floor. She ordered her legs to move and felt the message sizzle en route. The connections down there were gone. All she could feel was an cold, invading feeling where the feathers were buried. She whimpered in pain. Fleur stepped in front of her and spoke rapidly in their natural tongue.  
  
*" I've seen the most amazing things,"* she said, lowering her face to Madame Maxine's. The half-giantess' body rocked with pain. *" I've become the most amazing things. This is my heritage, and this school my right. You will not take it away from me with your pitiful toy."* Looking at the Shatterstar on the desk, still glowing serenely as if removed from this blood-soaked scene, she continued, *" It's the world of the Tide now. The world where I will claim my birthright. Did you know that my grandmother was hunted? That veela are hunted the world over?"* She rose up, and then began pacing the room, shaking her head slowly. Madame Maxine, her life blood leaking out, could do nothing more than watch and listen. *" They are enslaved when found. Most of them end up as the sexual "pets" of governors and other high-ranking officials of whatever government manages to find them- or worse, they use them in spells. I've heard that a single veela in good health can fetch prices of thousands of Galleons in some places. A veela sacrifice is highly respected in some circles, and a vital component of some spells."* She stopped pacing and looked directly at the dying Headmaster of Beauxbatons. *" But Harry has promised something. I know that most people would say I was being a fool to believe him, but he never breaks his promises to those who work for him. He has promised me that every child born different, every child whose blood isn't purely human or wizard.."* She looked away for a moment, and even though her vision was fading, Madame Maxine saw tears in her eyes. She turned back to Madame Maxine, and now her voice seemed pleading, desperate. *" I have to do this, don't you see? I have to do it. You,.. you know what it's like. To be different. I'm always being accosted on the streets in Diagon Alley, always being pulled aside from the others, and I'm either lusted after or hated for my blood. That's it. That's what they judge me on. I'm not a human being at all... You know what I feel, don't you? You know my pain. And Harry gave me his word that everyone like us would be helped. I know that he's evil. But we, the half-bloods, the half-breeds, we've been subjected to evil our entire lives. Those who say they work for Good,"* she spat this word in disgust, *" have never helped us. Maybe... our only hope is Evil. If Evil is our only choice, then Evil shall we be."*  
  
Her monologue over, she stood up. Looking at her, she said, *" And now, Madame Maxine, your life is over. I'm sorry it had to end this way. But just think of this."*  
  
Her wings came forward and snapped again, and three feathers shot out. They stuck in Madame Maxine's brain, the ends seeming to sprout from the skull like some strange forest. The last words Madame Maxine ever heard were:  
  
*" No one will ever suffer as we have, ever again."*  
  
Outside, the laughter of the Jester rang out. The students of Beauxbatons huddled inside their dorms. Fleur went to the window, opened it, and remembering the signal she and Harry had agreed upon, grabbed the Shatterstar. She raised it out the open window, and it gleamed, blue fire in the afternoon sun.  
  
Below her, Harry looked up, and grinned. He raised his voice in a shout that carried over the battlefield, causing his soldiers to look up from the bodies of Beauxbatons former teachers.  
  
" BEAUXBATONS IS OURS! TO VICTORY!"  
  
His laughter echoed down Beauxbatons halls, and inside, the students trembled. 


	11. The Ministry Awakes

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR THE CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicate thought  
  
Hey, people! This is Silverlocke980 once more. And about some of my reviews...  
  
This is to Mr. Happy Java Man.  
  
(Trumpets Blare.) In the High Court of Coffeenia, the great doors open, and several Oompa Loompas move aside to let a vanguard of vampires, humans, and orcs through. The vanguard knights are riding wolves, and one carries an ornate scroll. This human unrolls the scroll, coughs, and then proclaims loudly:  
  
" Mr. Happy Java Man, High Lord of Coffeenia...  
  
The Kingdom of Silverlocke980, also known as the Senateship, sends back their greetings and thanks for your kind words. However, we have but one problem with your wonderfully well-written letter. Mr. Silverlocke980 is not the Jester QUEEN, but KING. It is a common mistake, and spurred many laughs in court as of recently. We hope you will continue to review this work, and give us your noble opinion."  
  
SIGNED: Silverlocke980, High Storyteller of the Senateship  
  
The soldier furls his scroll, bows, and then all the members of the vanguard leaves.  
  
Thanks once more for that wonderful review. Very cool, Mr. Happy Java Man. (Oompa Loompas rock!)  
  
And another review asked why everyone thought the prophecy was dead. The answer is simple: most people believe that for someone to kill Voldemort, that person must be Good, not Evil. We outside the story see that that doesn't have to be so (look at all the druglord battles) but none of the characters see it.  
  
And now it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
The Ministry Awakes  
  
In the Ministry of Magic's headquarters, Susannah Bones looked down at the reports.  
  
Beauxbatons was lost.  
  
She couldn't beleive it. With the agonizing clarity of hindsight, she wished she had voted against Harry Potter in his trial. Her rational mind knew it wouldn't have mattered (there were simply too many who supported him) but that did little to still her subconscious, which screamed again and again that it was their fault for not sending him to Azkaban in the first place. If they had simply done that, none of this would matter.  
  
The Wizengamot had met after the first reports of Beauxbatons takeover, mostly brought from students who had fled, and they had been about to conclude the same thing they had when Hogwarts was destroyed; that rogue Death Eater remnants had gathered together and were attacking the schools. That was when the doors burst open.  
  
Ron Weasley had trod in and thrown the dead body of a Marauder onto the floor. His armor and cloak caked in blood, he was flanked by five White Shore soldiers. The Wizengamot guards, who had stepped forward, qualed under the looks the soldiers were giving them. There had been no war in centuries, and the irony was that the old and venerable guards were the truly green soldiers here, and the teenage White Shore soldiers the real veterans. Hermione Granger, her new white robes trailing behind her, stepped in behind them. The doors closed as she waved her staff at them. Her original wand had been renovated at Durmstrang's and had become a staff of ivory and gold; it was this she brought in to the Wizengamot. A month had passed since the Battle of Beauxbatons, as the soldiers had taken to calling it, and the month had not been kind to her. Lines were drawn on her face, lines that were far too old and were jarring on her young face.  
  
Susannah Bones leaped up, furious with these children for interrupting her meeting (and also, in her heart, a little scared at what it might portend).  
  
" What are you doing here? The Wizengamot is meeting, you-"  
  
" Shut up," Ron said, his voice like a sudden cold wind in the room. Susannah Bones voice faltered and her anger left her. In it's place a cold feeling, like the touch of a corpse, began at her back and spread outwards. Tendrils of ice slid all about her in an all-encompassing embrace.  
  
" Wizengamot," Hermione began, her voice loud and commanding, " listen to us! We have several times entreatied you to open your eyes, to look all around you and see the truth! What you have tried to build for so long is coming to an end! Hogwarts has fallen, it's mighty towers now ash (an astute observer would note a slight trembling when she said this). Now Beauxbatons has fallen, taken over by an enemy scarcely less evil than Voldemort himself! (Gasps and several "Don't say his name!"s rang out in the room at this.) How many more must die before you will listen to us?"  
  
Susannah Bones stared at her, then looked to the dead Marauder on the floor. " What do you wish to say?" she whispered, and the cold feeling spread further around her, seeming to mock life and laughter and hope and happiness, drowning her in a sea of fear and laughing faces...  
  
" This," Hermione said, and nodded towards the dead Marauder, " is what we stand against. Harry Potter, as you know by now, is leading this army. They call themselves the Black Tide. We stand against them. We are the White Shore, and Durmstrang is our home. We were," and here even a less than astute observer could detect a wavering of voice, " badly harmed in the last battle. We lost a lot of men. His general, Seamus Finnigan, is a genius in battle. I've heard him called the Black General."  
  
" We cannot stand against this by ourselves. We seek your aid, Ministry. This is a war we cannot afford to lose."  
  
Susannah Bones looked around the Wizengamot benches. Every member turned away. She had been made, for better or worse, the de facto Minister of Magic. She turned towards Hermione.  
  
" We will help you," she said, and the coldness in her body seemed to laugh... to laugh like a jester.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Harry looked over their ranks. They had grown considerably since the capture of Beauxbatons. Most of the students had joined them willingly, and Harry had let the others go. It was part of his plan.  
  
Harry considered the brutes who would have ordered everyone in Beauxbatons to join "or else" complete fools. They would have instilled fear, but anyone who is afraid inevitably begins hating, and soon that hate would start another battle. To prevent this, Harry decided to act like a benevolent liberator who had freed them from the Ministry's encroaching control. The Ministry, which they had all heard the teachers complain and worry about in class, seemed like a faraway enforcer of taxes to the students; the result was that they joined the Black Tide. Harry reinforced the image of being a liberator by allowing those students who wanted to leave to be let go. The students saw them leaving of their own free will, running after the badly beaten White Shore, and then they looked at the soldiers of the Black Tide, who seemed like gods to them in their shining black, rune-engraved armor. The students decided to join up, thinking they had nothing to lose. Neville Longbottom, who had lost a great deal of weight and gained an equal amount of muscle, particularly impressed them. He gained over a thousand new Elementalists from Beauxbatons members. To deal with the training workload, he assigned his two best Elementalists, Padma Parvati and a former Hufflepuff named Wedge, to help him with the new recruits, designating them " Master Elementalists" and giving them a special badge that showed a compass with all four elements indicated: a mountain at South for Earth, a bonfire at East for Fire, a swirling wave at West for Water, and a swirling tornado at North for Air. Padma was particularly happy with her new badge and showed it off proudly to everyone within twenty feet.  
  
The students Harry let "escape" never got very far. The fools acted like they believed Harry, and went straight down the road. Archers stationed along it shot them in the back as they passed. They never made a sound.  
  
A few slipped through, but it didn't matter. The existence of the Tide was known, now, but it didn't matter. Oceania now had a sister town.  
  
Harry christened the town around the former Beauxbatons School of Wizardry and Witchcraft " Lunas," after the latin word for Moon. The Moon pulled at the tides, as Beauxbatons had pulled the Black Tide, and Harry found it fitting. Fleur Delacour was stationed as the governor of the new town. Harry kept his promise to her, and within weeks a steady stream of magic renegades was flowing into Lunas. Fleur sent criers and diplomats to several major Wizarding areas (all outside the Ministry's control) with the express mission of gathering together those considered "abnormal" in the wizarding world. Werewolves, vampires, and even a few assorted giants were traveling now that the news of Lunas had reached them. Fleur was greatly cheered by this and forgot her original doubt of Harry.  
  
Deciding to go back to Oceania, Harry left a small Black Tide detachment under Secondary General Vicks' (as he was now known) command at Lunas while the main army headed back towards Oceania. Padma Parvati and Ginny Weasley stayed behind as well; Padma had to stay and help the new Elementalist recruits, while Ginny was more interested in a huge mass graveyard that lay five miles north of Lunas. She and her Necromancers (their ranks had grown to almost a thousand) moved there and located a mining camp whose sole purpose was to remove dead bodies for spellcasting. Night and day the grinding of stone, rock, and occasionally bone were heard at Lunas from the operation they were carrying out there. The new citizens of Lunas began calling the area the Boneyards, and the name stuck. It became known soon that Ginny would pay quite handsomely for unique skeletons and corpses, and several robberies of Muggle graveyards occured in the following weeks. The bodies were never those of Muggles, but of wizards, for Muggle corpses were essentially useless to Ginny. Other budding graverobbers went hunting in the hills about Lunas and came back with the bodies of trolls, goblins, and various other unlucky creatures. The bodies thus taken were soon sent to the Boneyards with the Necromancers who came to Lunas once a week for supplies, and the next group would bring the payment of gold to the robbers. One very successful man made over five hundred Galleons one week when he brought back three troll bodies, all perfectly intact, as well as five goblin bodies. He had used Avadra Kevadra and killed all of them without harming the bodies, and Ginny was especially pleased with them. The next day, zombie trolls began standing guard at the Boneyards. Ginny found them useful, for they never needed sleep nor food, and could stand eternal watch without a single complaint.  
  
Harry, back at Oceania and watching the Jester's Keep being built, was quite happy. The Ministry was moving to mobilize, but he had a surprise in store for them. But that could wait. He wanted to deal with Voldemort first.  
  
He was the Jester. Nothing could stand before him.  
  
He smiled, watching as the Jester's Keep began to rise before him. It would be complete next spring.  
  
- That's it for this chapter. See if you can spot any hidden references to other things (here's a clue: these two characters made their first debut in Final Fantasy III (or Final Fantasy VI in Japan). Review me please! 


	12. The Battle of Diagon Alley

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]-Indicates thought  
  
Hello once again. Silverlocke980 here. Kudos to ZeonReborn for noticing Vicks and Wedge first. Somebody else noticed Vicks but didn't see Wedge- kudos to you too. I never really understood the decision to change Vicks' name to Biggs, since I like Vicks better. Final Fantasy III (VI japan) is the best of the Final Fantasy games, and the second best RPG ever (Wild ARMS 3 is the absolute best RPG ever; if you like RPGs, BUY IT.)  
  
Now, for all the Big O fans out there, I have a special treat. I've redone and revamped my "Wakening of the Wanderer" Big O fanfic. The first chapter is the actual fanfic, but the second chapter is something never before seen in Big O history: a synopsis of the show. I'll analyze each character, put out theories about the show and the "forty years ago" amnesia symptoms, and if you e-mail me a theory, I'll put it in. I'll update and revise the synopsis when I can. It will still be chapter 2, but with new things in it!  
  
And I'm finally updating the story to R. A lot of people have mentioned it, and you're right. I originally put it as PG-13 because I didn't think I'd really go past that, but I'm having way too much fun killing people to tone it down any. If you look for this story, remember to search for R-rated stories.  
  
Enough with that. It's now....  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 10  
  
The Battle of Diagon Alley  
  
Harry looked over his army. It's ranks had doubled, what with the new Beauxbatons recruits and the magical renegades that had flowed into Lunas. The army before him consisted of 14,000 troops. He was going to need them. They now stood on a grass plain, two miles from several Portkeys that would lead them to Diagon Alley. One of Harry's spies had created these Portkeys and placed their brethren inside various locales of Diagon Alley. It would allow for a surprise attack, which was what Harry hoped for.  
  
The army was split into three neat divisions. In the middle, Dusk Knights (there were now over two thousand of them) rode their spider mounts in the front lines, with Seamus Finnigan (who was beginning to love what he did, and being called the "Black General" was even better) at their head. Marauders, their black armor gleaming, stood behind them, over five thousand strong. To their left, Neville Longbottom, his long blue cape streaming in the wind, sat at the head of the Elementalists. Behind him, the four thousand strong Elementalist legions stood, their staves at the ready. Padma Parvati stood right behind Neville, the badge marking her "Master Elementalist" flashing in the sun. She had a look of eagerness to her face.  
  
To the right of the Marauders, the Necromancers waited. A thousand strong, they were glimpses of nightmare. Ginny had been creating armor and helmets out of the skeletons unearthed (or bought) at the Boneyards, and her Necromancers now wore them. Human skulls sat atop their foreheads with their jaws open, and in the middle of their mouth the Necromancer's face peered out. The end of the jawbone, which had been magically extended, sat at their chin. It looked like nothing less than a human skull emitting a human face. The armor was of bones, sitting atop black robes that were worn underneath; rib cages protected the torso, while magically extended bone spread out to cover the legs and arms. They wielded scythes whose shaft and blades were made of wizard bone, and atop each a skull gleamed. Ginny stood at their head, and she wore no armor, just ordinary black robes; but the skull of her father still hung about her neck. She stretched her leathern wings in and out constantly, impatient to begin killing.  
  
The last group, to the right of the Necromancers, was the Purgers and the misfits that had gathered at Lunas. The Purgers were a thousand strong, and their Skullmakers stood at the ready by them. The tips dripped their slow, burning liquid. The Purgers, clothed in their reddish-orange garb, were silent beside them. Each and every Purger was a pyromaniac at heart, and they could afford to be silent in contemplation of the burning that was ahead.  
  
The misfits were a completely different story. They were howling and laughing, roaring and stomping in anticipation of their revenge against the wizards. They had named themselves the "Rogues", and they were more than willing to die for the Black Tide. Harry had given them more than a haven; he had given them a chance to fight back. As one vampire put it, " Before I had to hide, even at night, and my meals were few and far inbetween, but now I am free- and the Jester never wants for blood." Harry, without actually meaning to, had created a legion of fanatically loyal soldiers which consisted of the most dangerous races known to Wizardkind.  
  
Harry thought it marvelously funny.  
  
Harry spoke now, and even the Rogues quieted down. When the Jester spoke, you listened.  
  
" Men! The Ministry is now moving against us." Grunts and guffaws from the soldiers. They thought (rightly) that the Ministry was a bunch of weaklings. " The major Wizarding cities have all accepted us, save one. Diagon Alley refuses us! Let us show them what happens to those who refuse the Black Tide! Onward!"  
  
With roars and yells of battle, the army stomped off towards the Portkeys. Harry ran beside them, and he felt the darkness overtake him once more. His laughter rang out as the Portkeys began teleporting his men to Diagon Alley. The swirling obscured time and space, falling past dream and nightmare, heading towards reality...  
  
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One very unlucky customer of Ollivander's that day had seen a worn-down hat in the corner of the wand shop. Deciding to take it, he was wearing it when a Marauder teleported through it. His body literally exploded outward as the Marauder's body came out of the hat. The Marauder, taking no notice of the ruptured man's body before him, immediately got away from the hat. Right behind him, more Marauders were teleporting in.  
  
In Gringott's, two goblins were standing before a vault, muttering. Strange sounds had been heard inside, and they worried about the treasure. Deciding to open it, one (it was Griphook, the goblin Harry had met his first time in Gringotts) put the key in. When he opened it, a giant's fist slammed outward, sending Griphook on a one way trip that ended with him falling past the suspended tracks into the darkness below. The giant grumbled.  
  
" Damn fool," he said, stomping out. He was bedecked in metal armor, and on his hands spiked gauntlets gleamed.  
  
The other goblin attempted to raise an alarm by pressing the emergency rune that lay beside the vault, but before he could a swarm of bats covered him. He was pushed off by the relentlessly biting horde and his screams echoed in the corridors. A vampire strolled out of the vault, and the bats returned to him, floating about him in a cloud. He wore a black cape, and his pale face shown above it.  
  
" Indeed," he said to his giant companion. The giant stomped into the trolley (which groaned under his weight) and set off towards the main bank of Gringotts. Throughout the catacombs, other giants were doing the same. They planned to create enough havoc within Gringotts that the goblins (which both Harry and Seamus, who had planned the attack, regarded as the most dangerous obstacle) would be unable to help the city until it was too late.   
  
The vampires, who could not stand sunlight, were to attack the catacombs. The catacombs were enormous, pitch-black places that allowed no light save torchlight, and several dragons, manticores, and even a few elementals guarded the deepest vaults. In addition, scores of goblins, all heavily armed, roamed the catacombs, riding both the trolley tracks and running along special paths in the rock. Not much for a vampire to contend with.  
  
The vampire and his bat horde lifted off the ground and flew off, down into the darkness, and his fangs glittered in torchlight.  
  
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The Portkeys were all hidden in strategic points, and with the sole exception of the hat in Ollivander's, none were disturbed. At the Apothecary, two women who had been about to buy some owls were shocked to discover a Purger erupting out of a piece of parchment none of them had noticed until now. They were even more shocked when he opened up with his Skullmaker and they burst into flames.  
  
In the Leaky Cauldron, a drunk wizard, sitting down in a corner and leaning against the wall, was completely unsurpised when a female Air Elementalist teleported into being from a beer stein. Looking at her, he said, " Hey, girlie! How are you?"  
  
The Elementalist looked at him and summoned her power. Lightning flickered from her fingertips and stroked across his body. It instantly fried the circuits in his brain, and the spilled beer on his shirt burst into flames. The bartender, who had been far more disturbed by her sudden appearance than the late drunk, said " What the hell-"  
  
She looked at him and triggered her power again. Instead of the electricity frying him, however, she simply cut off the electric impulses in his brain that kept his heart pumping. The bartender died of a heart attack, laying across the bar he so loved. The fire the Elementalist had started began to spread across the bar as she walked out. Behind her, more Elementalists appeared, and one had the good sense to take the beer stein outside. He dropped it outside the back door of the Leaky Cauldron, which was now on fire. He rushed forward to join the pitched battle that was taking place in the streets of the city.  
  
In the cauldron shop, a Dusk Knight, complete with spider mount, erupted from a wand. The owner had time to scream once before the Dusk Knight's spear burst through his skull. The three customers screamed right before the spider leaped on one of them, jaws rending his flesh. A werewolf emerged from the wand on the floor, and looked at the other two customers, who had tripped over one another. He smiled and busted the vial in his hand. The vial was a potion called Lunar Eclipse, and it's most stellar use was that it completely mimicked the light of the full moon. The werewolf mutated right in front of the horrified customers. He leaped on one of them and, grabbing his face in his mutated, claw-like hands, twisted his head off. One snap of his jaws silenced the screaming of the other customer. His head rolled onto the floor. Both the werewolf and the Dusk Knight ran outside to help the other members of the army.  
  
The city was awakening to battle, and several spells were already flying. A Marauder tangled with a blacksmith in the street. The Marauder was slashing at the smith, who slung his hammer outward. It caught the Marauder in the head and stunned him. As the smith was about to strike, a spear of ice pierced his chest. He dropped his hammer and groaned as he fell. Neville Longbottom, ignoring the dazed Marauder, turned and swept his staff at a nearby fountain. Water shot out in a rock-solid torrent, crushing several nearby wizards.   
  
A Purger was engaged in a lethal game of tag with a fat merchant; every time the Purger tried to burn him, the merchant Disapparated. Finally the merchant Apparated behind him and stabbed him in the back with a knife. The knife went through the protective metal of the Purger's tank and caused an explosion. Both the merchant and the Purger were devoured in flames. Only the flame resistant material of the Purger's suit was unburned.  
  
Padma Parvati stood behind the major battle, and raised her arms. An enormous earthquake rippled through Diagon Alley, tearing down buildings and killing many of its citizens. The green energy of Earth flowed outward from her, and Ollivander's tumbled downwards in a storm of dirt and rubble. Only Gringotts was untouched; wards of energy designed to halt earthquakes kept it standing. The earthquake had the intended effect of destroying most of Diagon Alley, but several unintentional consequences resulted as well.  
  
A Dusk Knight nearby suddenly found himsefl fighting a huge dog that had been released by Padma's earthquake. The nearby Bestiary shop specialized in breeding magical creatures, and the dog was one of the newer creations. The dog ran forward, and the Dusk Knight struck it in the face. It backed off, bleeding. It charged again, and the Dusk Knight's mount leaped onto a still-standing buildings nearby, where it clung to the vertical wall with it's eight limbs. The dog's forward momentum slammed it into the wall, and the Dusk Knight dropped down on top of it. The dog's high-pitched yelping rang out as the spider bit and bit again, tearing through the animal's flesh and poisoning it.  
  
Also freshly released from the Bestiary, a giant crab walked out onto the battlefield. It's claws grabbed a Marauder and crushed him. Blood gushed from his black armor as he died. Ginny, who had been flying over the battle, shouted out a spell. The words were thick, guttural, and seemed to ripple the very air. A horde of screaming, shrieking skeletal ghosts flew towards the crab, lifting it off the ground as they tore and scraped at it's hide. They dismembered it and returned to Ginny. She flew off, in search of other creatures to kill.  
  
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Inside Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Mrs. Weasley had been shopping for robes when Harry teleported inside from a quill on the floor. She believed that he had not only killed her husband, but Ginny too (on the clock in her house, Ginny's picture pointed towards Death, alongside Mr. Weasley's.). When he stepped forward, both she and Madame Malkin stopped dead in their tracks.  
  
" What in the hell-" Madame Malkin began. Harry, who wanted no interruptions when he killed Mrs. Weasley, snapped his hand outward. The force of his blow traveled through the air and sliced her face apart. Blood flew out and splashed against the back wall as her body fell.  
  
Mrs. Weasley, her rage returning to her, shouted out " You! Harry, you bastard! How could you kill Ginny and my poor husband! How could you! We cared for you, you-"  
  
" I never killed Ginny," Harry said, his voice calm and smooth. He folded his hands in the death pose, crossed over his chest, while he walked steadily forward towards her. The Portkey he had used was a private one; there would be no interruptions. " She chose to become a Necromancer. And as for your husband... well, Ginny killed him. She said such a crime would give her great power. And it has."  
  
Mrs. Weasley stared at him, her mouth an open O of horror. Harry felt greatly cheered by this.  
  
" Yes, she killed him," he said, reveling in the look of horror on her face, " simply for the power. So you see, I never touched either of them. I just let Ginny do what she wanted. That's all."  
  
He stepped forward and raised his still-crossed hands to the sides of his face. " Don't worry. You won't live with this knowledge very long."  
  
He snapped his hands outward, uncrossing them, and an X of sheer force erupted out of his claws. It split Mrs. Weasley's torso apart, and the four halves fell to the floor seperately. The last thing she saw was the grinning death-mask of the Jester.  
  
- Next update: the battle for Gringotts! 


	13. Breaking the Bank

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]-Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hey everyone. I know it's been forever and a day since I wrote last, but with three fanfics and one synopsis going, it's hard to keep up. BUT, here it is. The next chapter of Harry's Madness!  
  
And to ShadowWolf- although your idea is pretty interesting, sorry but no. I don't write lemons. I tried writing one, but got bored shitless halfway through. It would be great material for a hentai artist, but not for me :). And thanks for compliments.  
  
ZeonReborn- Thank you for pointing that out to me. I honestly thought her name was Padma Parvati, but it's Patil. Doh! But you mentioning them being fused has given me ideas... I'm debating whether to put them in or not. I'm leaning towards no at the moment, but if someone says anything in a review, they might push me towards yes...  
  
Aaron- Thanks for the compliments! Voldemort will show up after the next chapter, so don't worry.  
  
Mystikal Witch- Muggle weaponry is generally ineffective, and that gets explained this chapter. Nukes, on the other hand, are quite effective, but Harry wants to rule, not destroy everything. If you burn it all down, there is nothing left to rule over later. Good idea, though.  
  
Hermy10- Haven't read your fanfic yet. Will try, though. (If I have the wrong person, sorry- it's been a very tiring day for me.)  
  
Enough of this. It's now....  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 11  
  
Breaking the Bank  
  
Gringotts was about as old as things got in the Wizarding world. It had been created by a goblin named Grin as a way to hoard his stolen gold, but when he saw the money he could make giving loans and having others pay interest (or stealing when others wouldn't pay back loans they owed), he turned it into a bank. His best friend, a goblin named Gotts, joined him in this affair, and it started life as "Grin and Gotts Wizarding Bank." After several hundred years, the goblins merged the names in honor of it's founders, christening it " Gringotts." Gringotts had a reputation for safety that was unmatched. No expense was spared in it's creation. The catacombs ran for miles under the surface, under all of Diagon Alley and most of Hogsmeade. Long, snake-like dragons called Wyrms were bred specifically as watchdogs for the high-security vaults, and armed goblin patrols constantly guarded the catacombs. Spells, runecraft, monsters- it was believed Gringotts was invincible.  
  
This was not so.  
  
For you see, in Gringotts there was a very special vault, located in the middle of the bank and about a mile under the ground. This vault was the most heavily guarded of all, and only the highest ranking goblins in Gringotts even knew of it's existence. Dumbledore had owned one of two keys that would unlock that vault, and it had been lost when Hogwarts fell. The second key was held by the current Head Goblin at Gringotts, a tough, wiry goblin named Tesla. The key was simple and unadorned, made so that no thief who could break into Gringotts would steal it. The key was bound to the owner, and only if Tesla's hand held the key would it work.  
  
The precautions were taken for a single reason. Elementalists draw their power from the very souls of the four Elements. These souls, known as the Elemental Orbs, were once guarded in the Ministry of Magic. Voldemort had made repeated attempts to take them, so Dumbledore had them moved from the Ministry and placed in Gringotts. The four Orbs were hence protected from Voldemort's attacks, and deemed safe. They had not been moved since, for Dumbledore had been afraid Voldemort wasn't dead (and rightly so) and left them at Gringotts under Tesla's protection. There they had stayed, glowing in the ebony darkness.  
  
The quake wards about Gringotts had done their job, and no physical signs of the quake ever hit Gringotts. But waves of the magical energy went past the wards and into the bank- into the catacombs- and far below the surface, into the Vault.  
  
And in that complete darkness that so mirrored Harry's soul, a green light pulsed softly.  
  
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Seamus Finnigan looked around, his sword at the ready. His mount had been killed, so he stood now. Cries of battle and war filled his ears. Spells flew and buildings collapsed. His men were in front of him, fighting a group of particularly courageous merchants. The screams of the dying rang out.  
  
Seamus was having the time of his life.  
  
Seamus never told anyone, even Harry, about it, but he had had a very hard upbringing. His parents were extremely harsh, draconian people, always pushing him for more, more. He gave all he had in him, and it was never enough. He never earned their approval. At Hogwarts, he dreaded going home as much as Harry had, and his heart felt like it would burst with joy when the first day of school arrived. He always stepped onto the train at Platform Nine and Three Quarters without looking back. There was no need to; his parents were already gone, without a wave or goobye passing between them. His whole life he would be hounded by this image, his back and head hung in sorrow while his parents walked away. He would see it in dreams, and wake with tears on his face. It cast a gloom on his whole life.  
  
When the D.A. had started (on what seemed like a day millions of years ago), he had jumped at the chance. The reason was simple. He liked to live a life outside his parents, and what they didn't know about him they couldn't judge. He had joined for that reason only. He had problems with authority, and that was why he was so disrespectful to Harry at first. He viewed all authority the way he viewed his parents- as damn fools, in other words- but he never let himself tell his parents that. He couldn't. The bonds of supposed love and the thought that it shouldn't be this way kept him from lashing out at them. Against other authority, he had no such qualms.  
  
When the D.A. became the Black Tide, with his subsequent promotion to General, he changed. Some of it was the alcohol (he was a regular patron of the Laughing Mug, which had opened a shop in Lunas and extended it's business), but most of it was this: he liked it because his parents had no idea what he was. They had no idea that men bowed to him, followed his command, that others respected him. That, in short, he was better than them.  
  
A short-lived grin spread on his face, then was replaced by a calculating look. He ran forward on the cobbled paths of the street, and leaped into the air, his magic carrying him far above the ruined alleys of Diagon Alley. Bringing his sword down with all his strength, he tore through a merchant. The man died with his skull split in two.  
  
Turning, Seamus cast a magic he had recently developed. Time slowed down. He heard his heart pump once... twice... three times. The beats were slow and well defined. He stepped forward, each action seeming to take minutes. He brought his sword down on a merchant and watched the impact. Blood flew up in droplets that stayed in the air, shining like crimson. His sword seemed to glide through the merchant's flesh, parting it like water. Seamus turned, watching the blood droplets still floating in the air, and sliced another merchant. His upwards blow unzipped the man's abdomen, from groin to chest. His body lifted upwards, and he stayed there, falling slowly. Seamus turned once more, facing the last of the merchants around him. The man was still gaping at the corpse of the first man Seamus had killed. Seamus ran at him, arm extended, blade trailing. The man's headless corpse stood standing as the head slowly somersaulted in the air. The man's mouth and eyes slowly widened, as if in shock at his own decapitation. Seamus stopped and released the spell, gazing as he did at the arrows and spells seeming to hang in mid-air, suspended. The combatants looked like characters in a slow-moving picture, each swing and step taking seconds.  
  
The spell released with a rush, and the battle returned to normal speed in Seamus' eyes. A Marauder later stated that after Seamus had leapt and killed the first merchant, he had seen a blur of black. The other three merchants looked as if invisible blades were slicing them. The entire attack had lasted barely three seconds.  
  
Seamus, tired from his spell, stood panting and watched his men fight. They were doing well. Soon they would be at Gringotts.  
  
He smiled again, and rushed forward to battle.  
  
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Underneath Gringotts...  
  
A group of goblins, armed to the teeth with swords and axes, wandered the catacombs, torches flickering in the seemingly endless darkness. Unbeknownst to them, they were about to become dinner.  
  
The first inkling of danger went through their leader, who saw a bat flutter by. Knowing they were too far underground for bats, he said, " What is-"  
  
He never got to finish his sentence. A shadow dropped from the ceiling, covered him, and fell into the velvet darkness. He didn't even have time to scream.  
  
The other goblins, four in all, pulled together, gazing about in fear and confusion. They brought their weapons to bear, ready to strike. All about them, the darkness suddenly laughed. The laughter seemed to come from everywhere at once, and that was when a horde of chittering, shrieking bats suddenly swooped out of nowhere onto the group. Screams and goblin curses filled the air as the ravenous beasts tore through the skin and reached tender flesh filled with sweet, nursing blood.  
  
Behind them, not three steps behind their torchlight, the vampire smiled. His fangs glimmered as he stepped forward and crouched over the body of a goblin, and began to feed.  
  
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In numbers, the goblins were never as numerous as wizards. So they won their wars in a different way. They used science.  
  
Although most Wizards scoffed at Muggle inventions, they had no idea how effective science actually was. Those few times when Magic met Science, the winner usually ended up being Science. One particular instance, which warranted a file Mr. Weasley had kept in his desk at all times when he was still alive, involved an American-made Abrams M-1A1 tank. The crew had been on a routine patrol when two dragons, a mating pair, had landed in front of them. The dragons had thought they had found a strange, scaled creature, and were going to see if they could eat it. Although the tank crew members had freaked, they had had enough sense to fight back. The result was two dragon corpses with giant holes where their hearts used to be. An Abrams' main cannon is a big gun, and at close range does large, unpleasant things to the most powerful creatures. Every Ministry member at the scene had been shocked that the tank crew had managed to survive. It spoke volumes about the need for secrecy. The Ministry did not believe Wizards could survive a war with Muggles. The incident was never mentioned, and the general Wizarding community kept up their haughtiness at Science. The tank crew's memories were wiped cleaned, and it passed into history.  
  
Goblins, lacking the arrogance of Wizards, worked at science and discovered the key to it's use. Wizards put off an aura that disrupted electronics in the area, unless the electronics were coated in gold. Gold-plated circuitry, years before Muggles invented it, became standard Goblin equipment soon afterward.  
  
The end result was that the Goblins possessed the most high-tech weaponry in the entire world, Muggle or Wizard. They used weapons Muggles only dreamed of. It was these weapons that Seamus and his men ended up fighting.  
  
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Gringotts had opened for business like normal that day, with goblins running about and performing their jobs. The first indication of trouble was the huge, building-shaking roar that stopped them all dead in their tracks. A giant, coated in mail plates and sporting spiked gloves, stomped off a trolley into the room. The first goblins were shell-struck and didn't move. The giant stomped them flat and kept going.  
  
The second indicator of trouble was the second roar that split the air. This one seemed made up of several screams, including one of a human. Whipstitch leaped out of another trolley-cart, and on it's patched back Cho Chang stood, riding it like Death on his pale steed. A long chain attached to Whipstitch in her hand, her girlish laughter rang out as Whipstitch slammed it's bloody cleaver into the nearest set of desks, killing the goblins there. Dudley screamed on Whipstitch's chest, his mind a black madness which allowed no conscious thought or feeling but terror.  
  
The goblins, breaking out of their shocked silence, scrambled for weapons. Other giants soon entered the enormous ground floor, spiked gauntlets beating a rapid tattoo into any goblins nearby. One's mailed fist slammed into a group of goblins sitting at a table, breaking wood and bones.  
  
One goblin reached a weapon case on the west wall, broke the lock, and grabbed what looked like a too-bulky rifle. Aiming at a giant, he twisted a knob and then pulled the trigger. A whirring noise emerged from it, and a shockwave fired from the end of the gun. The wave of sheer force hit the giant in the face and knocked him backwards, staggering him against a wall. He laid there, face bleeding. He felt like he'd just been sucker-punched by another giant. His breath came in gasps and heaves.  
  
Another goblin, farther away on the western wall, had grabbed a gun that faintly resembled a Gatling gun, multiple barrels and all. He pulled it out, lugged it's barrel towards the fallen giant, and pulled the trigger. The barrels began to spin, and from each barrel a sharp, pointed object emerged. They flew in a rapid-fire blast into the giant, knifing into his chest. They exploded into shrapnel as they hit, tearing far larger holes than they should have in his flesh and sending sharp shards into his body. Blood gushed out of the gored holes in his chest. His heart was pierced, and he died instantly, his blood coating the floor as his enormous corpse pitched to the side.  
  
Another group of goblins reached a weapon case on the eastern wall and were about to open it when Whipstitch's enchanted flail hit them. Rippling through the air, it shattered the weapon case, the goblins, and most of Gringott's far wall. Cho laughed as she directed Whipstitch to assault another group. The giants, raging at the loss of their fellow, stomped forward. It was at this point in the assault that Padma Patil unleashed her earthquake, and although it didn't effect the building physically, it did cause a few goblins to stop and wonder what was happening. They were soon killed by the berserking giants.  
  
The goblins holed up around strongpoints and quickly-erected magic barricades, and would have held out longer if Seamus hadn't showed up then. His forces broke down the door of Gringotts with sheer wieght, and yelling out commands to his men, Seamus led the charge. Many goblins died before they even realized the Tide was behind them.  
  
One goblin, carrying the Gatling weapon the goblins had named a " Splicer", aimed at the incoming hordes and started firing. Several died before a Dusk Knight's mount flung it's webbing and caught the gun in his hand, jerking it out. His body was sliced apart by the incoming horde soon afterward.  
  
The goblin who had shot the giant swung his gun - an invention called a " Hygar", after it's inventor- swung his weapon towards the army. Cranking the knob on the side to maximum, he let loose with a full force blast. The shockwave shattered bones and skulls when it connected, and blood flew everywhere. A werewolf leapt onto the walls, and using his claws to dig in, ran along the wall in a strange leaping pattern. The goblin shot at him with the Hygar and missed, destroying a window and scattering glass everywhere. The werewolf leapt on him and bore him down with his weight, jaws snapping.  
  
A mile below the battlefield, the Orb of Earth gleamed. And the vault began to rise.  
  
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All elements were equal, or so the Ministry proclaimed. Yet public opinion had always held that Air was the greatest of them, and Earth the lowest. Daily Prophet columnists and high-ranking wizards made fun of it, claiming it was the element of brutes and fools. Subtlety was highly valued in Wizarding circles, and Earth's sheer strength was offensive to many. So Earth was always disregarded, and the Orb of Earth began to hate. The Orbs, being the souls of the elements, were in constant contact with all of it's own Elementalists. They had thoughts and minds of their own. And Earth's mind was poisoned from years of hating in the dark.  
  
That was when Harry's army had started, and Padma had become an Earth Elementalist. Earth began to ponder this, and formed plans. And when it felt Padma's power, it emerged, drawing the vault upwards with the force of the earth. It was coming to claim a Queen, and with her, rule all things. The bright green of Earth's orb darkened, befitting the mind inside it. The dark green light flowed out from the orb, coating the room.  
  
In the dark, the other orbs trembled. And the power of Earth covered the vault.  
  
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Padma was the first to notice anything happening. As an Elementalist of Earth, she was very perceptive of it, and felt something coming, something incredibly old and powerful. And she heard a voice. She stopped, the battle raging about her, and cocked her head, listening. Although a goblin fired at her, his Splicer's barrels spinning, the blades sunk to the ground before they came near her. The goblin wondered at this and chose a different target.  
  
*PADMA...*  
  
The voice was deep, as deep as a valley. It sounded old and young at the same time, and behind it Padma felt the weight of mountains behind it. The voice was calm and slow.  
  
" Yes?" she said aloud, her voice unnoticed in the heat of the battle. Beside her, a Marauder died, his throat a ragged hole where a Splicer bullet had ripped it out. She took no notice.  
  
* I AM EARTH. I AM THE POWER THAT YOU FOLLOW, THE POWER THAT LIES IN MOUNTAINS AND VALLEYS. I AM YOUR MASTER.*  
  
" Master," Padma said, bowing her head and dropping to one knee. " What have I done to deserve this honor?" For one of the few times in her life, she was being completely honest.  
  
* YOU HAVE BEEN A LOYAL SERVANT TO ME. YOU HAVE SHOWN MANY HOW GREAT MY POWER IS, HOW FOOLISH THEY WERE TO CURSE AND DAMN ME. AND I WILL GIVE YOU A REWARD.*  
  
" What, Master?" she said, her voice turning breathless. She felt a flowing of power, could see it all around her. Combatants on both sides stopped, feeling something as well, but only Padma could see the energy, the force, flowing about Gringotts' main floor.  
  
* I WILL RAISE YOU HIGHER THAN ALL MY OTHER SERVANTS. YOU SHALL BE THE QUEEN OF EARTH. YOU WILL BE THE GREATEST OF THEM ALL, GREATER THAN FIRE OR WATER OR AIR. YOU WILL BE IMMORTAL, A GODDESS AMONG HUMANS.*  
  
" Master," she said, bowing her head once more, " I follow your wishes."  
  
* THEN FEEL MY POWER. OPEN THE VAULT BEFORE YOU! RELEASE ME FROM CHAINS OF BONDAGE AND LET THEM KNOW MY POWER!*  
  
The vault that the Orb of Earth had lain it for years suddenly erupted from the ground, killing several Marauders and goblins from the force of it. The earth had vomited up her treasure.  
  
" How, Master?" she said, standing in awe of Earth's power.  
  
* A KEY, HELD BY THE HEAD GOBLIN OF THIS BANK. FIND HIM AND KILL HIM. TAKE THE KEY AND RELEASE YOUR MASTER, AND TAKE YOUR PLACE AS QUEEN!*  
  
Bowing quickly towards the vault, Padma set off at a dead run for the stairs that lay in Gringotts eastern wall, heading up towards the Head Goblin's room. Several times bullets or spells arced towards her, but Earth protected her with a field of gravity. Nothing touched her.  
  
Racing up the stairs, she heard it's voice one last time.  
  
* I CANNOT PROTECT YOU THERE, FOR THERE ARE SPELLS IN PLACE I CANNOT PIERCE. BUT YOUR MAGICKS SHALL SUFFICE. GO!*  
  
Staff at the ready, she began casting her first spell. On the battlefield below, taking a breather behind a overturned desk, Ginny smiled. She had heard Earth's command as well, being attuned to the psychic plane. She sent a mental message to Seamus.  
  
* Seamus. It's Ginny. I'm using telepathy to talk to you- don't say anything. Do you see Padma running up the stairs? Go after her.*  
  
Seamus, who had been about to stab a goblin, looked around when he first heard Ginny in his mind, then nodded his assent to no one in particular. Executing the goblin with a stab to the chest, he talked to his men with his helmet's magic.  
  
" Men! I need to get to the stairs. Whoever is closest to the stairs, I have an order! Keep the stairs clear of goblins and intact! Do you hear me?"  
  
" Sir!" A dozen different replies echoed in his head. Seamus nodded once more and ran for the stairs. His men were already clearing the surrounding area of goblins. Seamus smiled at the efficiency of his men, and began chasing after Padma.  
  
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Tesla stood in his room, suited up for battle. He knew it was a lost cause when he had looked down and seen the battlefield. They'd been surprised, and not even their technology could hold out for long. Already the goblins were being pushed into a corner, and as he watched a Purger assaulted a group of goblins holed up behind a overturned stone table. His Skullmaker's stream of liquid fire hit the stone and melted it, setting the goblins behind on fire. He heard their screams from his balcony above the battle. Sighing and stepping in, he picked up his own weapon. It was a special design he'd created himself. He called it a Bayonet. The handle was that of a normal gun, and so was the barrel, but a long sword was attached to the bottom, useful for close encounters. It fired Eclipse bullets, powerful bullets that essentially vaporized the target. He was planning on making his stand here, where he had ruled Gringotts for so long.  
  
The door, it's runes flashing as it's protective spells activated, was soon blown open by an enormous rocky hand. Padma stood behind it, already chanting her next spell. Seamus was behind her, running hard. Although Padma, behind the rock fist, couldn't see it, Seamus had seen Tesla aiming his Bayonet. Seamus had no idea what the weapon was, but he doubted it was good. He reached Padma and jerked her downward just as Tesla fired. A beam of white light flared outward, vaporizing the rock fist and turning everything over Seamus' head into dust. Padma, who had had the breath knocked out of her from Seamus' jerk, lay under him, panting. Some of her hair was caught in the blast and simply disappeared, as if it was never there. Seamus cringed and ducked low, sure the blast would kill him.  
  
The wave of white light ended, and smoke emerged from the doorway. Tesla looked at it with grim satisfaction, thinking he had killed them. Seamus' sword, perfectly thrown, flew through the door and pierced his heart. His lungs pierced, he coughed and died, his last thought [ We made a stand, at least. And that's all that has ever mattered, isn't it?..]  
  
Padma ran in, barely looking at Seamus, and began searching Tesla's body frantically. She finally pulled out several keys, and deciding to try them all, ran back down the stairs. Seamus, who stood watching her, went over to grab his sword and looked at the Bayonet. He grinned and grabbed it. Looking it over, he pumped it once- looked like his Muggle studies were coming in handy after all! His new weapon loaded, he ran down the stairs after Padma.  
  
Padma had almost reached the vault, still trying to figure out which key it was, when Earth's voice broke through her panic.  
  
* AT EASE, PADMA. IT IS THE UNADORNED KEY, THE ONE IN YOUR LEFT HAND.*  
  
She looked at it, and thanking all the gods, ran to the lock in the vault. Inserting the key, she opened the vault and stepped back. Her face was one of almost unbearable anticipation and naked hunger.  
  
And the power of Earth flowed into the room.  
  
- For those wondering, the Bayonet is NOT A GUNBLADE! Play Wild Arms 3. The Bayonet is Janus Cascade's weapon, and is what I used for the design. Next chapter- the Queen of Earth, Harry's attack on Hogsmeade, and Neville's choice! 


	14. Disease and Death

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]-Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hey everybody! Here's the next chapter (my way of making up for being so slow last time). And for those concerned about Neville, TRUST ME. Would I abandon evil so far into this fic? (smiles maniacally)  
  
Oh yeah, and here's a big question: WHERE ARE THE MEN? I am a male, and apparently one of very few on fanfiction.net. Most of my reviewers and almost all of the more intelligent ones are women. Of course, some men like ZeonReborn are eloquent and masters of English, but so many write stuff like " dude, dark harry is kewl, rite mo!" and I keep getting e-mails with the same statements and bad grammar. Please, men, try! It's not like it's girly or feminine to write really good stuff. I am not a sexist and I fully respect women, but it makes me worry over the future of my own gender. I hate the "big dumb man" stereotype, seeing as how I'm six foot and well-muscled (I bench-press in my spare time), and have been subjected to it most of my life. We all need less stereotypes in our lives.  
  
Ahem, with that out of the way, my answer to some reviewer's questions/comments:  
  
Oh, and to ZeonReborn- you may want to read my Big O synopsis. I've added some more stuff that we fans of Big O will enjoy, plus your theory gets it's own special section.  
  
To j... I don't know about the mecha. Although giant robot battles are fun as hell to watch (Big O especially) I don't think I could write it. Also, Harry's going to have more than enough problems dealing with the Wizarding world without throwing Muggles into it- yet. And as for Ash... doesn't he deserve a break? :)  
  
Someone else wrote that the Bayonet was a real weapon- wow. I knew that a knife on the end of any gun is technically a bayonet, but didn't know someone had actually invented a real gun like the one Janus Cascade uses. Wish I had one. Then you can shoot the deer and gut it, all with one tool! P.S. Do you know who created it (Britain, American, etc.)?  
  
And The *Mudblood* Blaise asked where Sirius, Remus, and the other Weasley kids are. Well, the situation with Remus gets cleared up this chapter, along with Fred and George, but Percy, Bill, and Sirius don't arrive until the first Black Tide vs. Ministry of Magic all-out battle. Which will probably be in the next few chapters, so you can begin salivating over it now.  
  
With that out of the way, it's now...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Part 1  
  
Disease and Death   
  
Seamus, who had reached the bottom of the stairs when Padma opened the vault, raised his new-found Bayonet up to block the sudden rush of dark-green light. He could feel tremendous amounts of force being gathered all about him. It was coming to a focal point in Padma. Her laughter, which had started high-pitched (normal for her age and gender) became deeper and seemed to be made up of two different voices: hers and a deeper, infinitely greater one.  
  
Ginny, who still lay crouched behind a table, sent a message to Seamus. * Get down,* she thought to him. Seamus dropped to the floor, shouting a command to his men to do the same.  
  
A rush of sheer magical force, light green in color, emitted from Padma. The goblins and Marauders still standing in the room were blown off their feet, and even the giants had trouble resisting. The entire world seemed made of green light, and Seamus thought that maybe he should have let Tesla kill Padma, since it seemed she was going to kill them all with the sheer strength she had gained. Power kept rushing to her, and the light grew brighter and brighter.  
  
And then, it stopped.  
  
Seamus thought he had been struck blind, but his eyes eventually adjusted back to normal. Propping himself up on his hands, he glanced upwards, his sight clearing. His pupils widened, and he saw with increasing clarity what stood before him. He gazed at it, then shook his head to clear the image away- it was impossible. When he looked again, it was still there, and still he did not believe it.  
  
Padma floated in the air above him, suspended on a cushion of gravitational force. Long, flowing green robes that draped to the earth hung off her body. They seemed to reach the floor, but when Seamus followed them down he saw they actually went into the ground, disappearing into it. Her hair had turned a brilliant orange-red, the color of molten lava- which, when one thought about it, was merely earth in another form. Her face was more angular, more regal. Seamus thought it the face of a queen almost without conscious thought. Although her body was lost in the draping folds of her robes, her arms protuded from magnificently embroidered sleeves, and on each hand countless jewels glittered. On her right hand, a bracelet of gold encompassed an enormous emerald, a dark-green that Seamus had never seen before, a color he hadn't even suspected existed before now. It pulsed slowly. Her hands were immaculately nailed, painted a pretty green that matched her robes. They hung by her sides, bent at the elbows, her hands ready for spellcasting. Her eyes, before normal human eyes, were now shining green orbs of energy, blazing with the power of Earth. Circling her constantly were two dragon statues, long creations made of earth and rock. Forming two complete circles, the designs on the rock showed a dragon chasing it's own tail. At times they passed under her, through the emerald curtain, almost as if they did not exist. Although Seamus did not see it, Ginny saw that in truth they did not. As attuned to the magic realm as she was, Ginny saw that the robes were merely a visible representation of the true bonds of magic linking Padma to the earth. They were, in short, window dressing.  
  
Padma turned her head, glancing at one of the remaining groups of goblins. The green lights that were her eyes flared briefly, and every single goblin turned to stone. Each was frozen in a position of amazement, mouths gaping.  
  
Another goblin, breaking from the daze Padma had inspired, aimed his Hygar cannon at her and fired. The powerful shockwave broke apart and dissappeared as if it had never existed when it hit the force field generated by the spinning dragons. The stone dragons spun very quickly and formed a vertical ring about Padma. Power sparked to life between them, and Padma's eyes flared once more, and the goblin stopped dead, the Hygar dropping from his hands. His body was torn apart as opposing gravitational forces, too strong to resist, rended his body into pieces. Gore flew everywhere.  
  
This broke the tenuous courage of the goblins. They began to flee like rats, trying to get to the door and into the dubious safety of the streets. And every time, Padma killed them, her eyes flaring, before they got there. Seamus and his men didn't have to move at all.  
  
Looking at her as the last goblin, body pierced by a dozen different spears of rock, fell to the ground, Seamus said, " My God. Somebody better call Harry- he may want to see this."  
  
Padma, smiling softly, said in her new and strange voice, " Yes, he may."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Harry ran through the streets of Hogsmeade, his hands behind him and to the sides. The sheer force and speed of his running pulled them back, and as the Jester, his claws glittered in the shafts of sunlight. Hogsmeade was in a state of panic, orders being yelled to and fro. Several survivors of the initial attack on Diagon Alley and Gringotts had already reached Hogsmeade and were telling their tale. The Three Broomsticks was completely full, mostly with questioning and curious fools. Harry turned down a side alley, knowing full well what it was. It was Knockturn Alley. He was going to a meeting.  
  
Inside Knockturn Alley, he made his way down the dark streets. He turned into a shop whose sign stated it was " The Best Black Magic and Torture Shop in Knockturn Alley!" Inside he met with one of his soldiers, a former Beauxbatons student named Lamium. Lamium had become a Necromancer when Ginny had taken over. The room was pitch black, save for light from two torches on the walls. They burned with an eerie blue light, the light of Necromancer magic. Seven black sacks, bundled with rope, lay on the ground. The room was devoid of furniture of any sort.  
  
" Lamium," Harry said to him as he entered, blowing the door wide open and shutting it too fast for Lamium to see more than a blur, " are they ready?"  
  
Lamium nodded. His skull helmet, making him more an apparition of death than a human, bobbed up and down. " Yes, my lord," he said, his voice thick with a French accent.  
  
" Excellent," Harry said. He walked over to a bundle and cut the ropes. Lamium said, as Harry looked inside, " Don't do that, sir, it's dangerous..."  
  
Harry cut him off with a wave of his hand. No mere poisons could endanger him. He looked inside, smiling under his mask, and what he saw inside caused him to burst into laughter. The Necromancer, who thought he had seen the darkest things in existence, shuddered at the sound and backed away a step. He involuntarily held his reaper sickle in front of him defensively, like a shield.  
  
Inside the black bag was a former Beauxbatons student. Some who had ran away were caught instead of killed, for even then Harry had been formulating a plan for Hogsmeade, which he doubted would join him. The student no longer looked human, however. He was covered in boils, bumps and sores that oozed thick pus and gaped red and open-mouthed on his skin. He was obviously feverish, his face sweating copiously, and only the spell placed on him kept him from crying out in pain. As it was, his mouth moved constantly, silently screaming. His entire body was bloated, like a corpse drowned in a river for months, and his eyes were huge, sightless things, covered in a white, coating film. His nose was a caked mass of snot and blood. Harry glanced at the naked man's body, and saw the bones showing through his skin where his body would no longer hold anything in. The smell of human urine and shit permeated the bag. Harry laughed again and closed the bag. Turning, he looked at Lamium, who had forced himself to put the reaper down.  
  
" Excellent work. Ginny's, I presume?"  
  
Lamium nodded. His tongue felt too thick, too dry, to be of any use. Harry had completely unnerved him with his laughter. It had absolutely terrified the Necromancer.  
  
" I must remember to thank her later," Harry said, noticing and enjoying the obvious terror in Lamium's eyes, visible in the eye sockets of his skull helm. He considered laughing again and scaring him worse, then thought better of it. " Don't you agree?"  
  
Lamium nodded, a stiff and unnatural maneuver. He fervently wished he could get out of here. Ginny was dark and evil, but then again, Lamium was too, being a Necromancer. Evil, normal human evil, he could and did deal with. Harry, however, was something else entirely. Harry wasn't human, wasn't even close to being human, and his evil was likewise greater and darker than any merely human doings.  
  
" Let's get these," Harry said, indicating the black sacks, " upstairs. I assume everything is ready?"  
  
Lamium nodded again. Harry walked off towards the far wall, and tapping a hidden button, ascended the stairs that appeared where the wall had been. Lamium, more than happy to have Harry gone, quickly chanted a levitation spell and followed him up the stairs.   
  
The stairs led to the rooftop, and as Harry reached the top he saw a little something his men had constructed and then teleported here: a catapult. This one was a magically enhanced catapult that Cho had created, one that had a range capable of hitting everything in Hogsmeade, with pinpoint accuracy to boot. Harry had made it in preparation of a siege. When Lamium arrived at the top, Harry felt a strange and disconcerting moment, a moment when a great deal of power flowed to one spot. It was this moment that Padma became Queen of Earth, and though Harry did not hear that until later, he did know that something had happened. He decided to worry about it later.  
  
[ Enough on my mind right now,] he thought, turning to Lamium. Three Black Tide members, Marauders all, stood by. One was the engineer who ran the catapult, the other two were the loading crew. All wore special masks over their faces, showing only their eyes. They resembled the burkhas Muslim women were forced to wear in the Middle East, although no woman there would have a red rune slashed on their burkhas. The rune, another of Cho and her Enchanters' creations, purified the air the wearer breathed. Lamium, being mostly dead anyway, was immune to disease, and Harry was simply too powerful to be affected. In short, they were now among a very small class of people: those who could leave Hogsmeade alive after the next few minutes.  
  
Harry had done the math for Hogsmeade, and realized that his forces would have serious problems taking the city. So he opted for a different solution. He wanted an example, and ruling a captured city would be too hard and binding at the moment. So he was simply going to ruin the city. He nodded towards the bags floating in the air.  
  
" Get started," he said.  
  
The men unzipped the bag, and grimacing at the hideous and pitiful creature inside, placed him on the catapult's sling. The engineer activated it's magic, sitting on a seat to the side. A magic in the seat caused a holographic image of the area the catapult would strike to appear in the air. Where it would hit appeared as a red spot. He began to mentally order it to move, going through the streets of Hogsmeade. He waited for Harry's orders.  
  
" Start at the Three Broomsticks," Harry said in his ear, leaning over him. He wanted to watch.  
  
What came next was going to be fun.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
At the Three Broomsticks, Remus Lupin stood outside the door in human form, watching, His hand on his combat wand in the pocket of his robes, he was nervous and very jumpy. He smelled something foul in the air, and couldn't understand what was happening. An enormous barrier of rock, wood, and stone had been raised past Gringotts, and before it had he had glimpsed the goblins getting slaughtered by some strange being. He hadn't seen much of it, but he'd gotten an idea of great power and strength from the creature. He sniffed the air, his supernaturally acute senses searching each molecule as it entered his nose. Something was wrong; what?  
  
From far away, his lupine ears heard a whistling noise, and then laughter. The laughter immediately keyed him up; nothing natural laughed like that. He pulled his wand out, facing where he'd heard the sound from. He had enough time to see what was coming before it hit him, but no time to move.  
  
A former student of Beauxbatons, victim of Ginny's created disease, slammed into Remus. Harry had seen him on the holographic display and immediately thanked Fate. He'd wanted Lupin dead for some time now. He was too much a good man to be corrupted, and powerful. Harry didn't want either trait in anyone who didn't work for him, and he knew that Lupin could contact many important people among the Aurors.  
  
Besides, the irony of Lupin being killed by the son of one of his best friends, a person he had tried to protect, was too funny to resist.  
  
The body, bloated and softened, exploded when it hit Remus. The force of the impact, mostly centered on Remus' face, cracked Remus' skull open. Bones from the unlucky student flew outwards from the impact, scattering into the stunned crowd at the Broomsticks. They flew hard enough to knock several people out, and the skull smashed a window, pieces of rotted and bloated flesh still clinging to it. The flesh and blood, all crawling with death, scattered into the crowd as well. Though they didn't know it then, they were all dead people from that moment on. Several people screamed and fainted. Remus' dying thoughts were almost childish; he reverted to calling his old friends by their nicknames in his death moments. Those had been the best times of his life, then, when he had had such great friends...  
  
[ Sorry, Padfoot,] he thought, his eyes closing. [ Guess I failed you... and Wormtail, for what it means, I forgive you. You were a weak man, and that's really not an excuse, but... I forgive you. And as for you, Prongs, old friend- sorry it turned out this way. I won't hold your son killing me against you, though. You were a good man, maybe the best of us...]  
  
His last thought, causing a strangely soft smile to appear on his lips as he lay dying on the cobblestones, was this.  
  
[ You were the first friends I had, and the best. Maybe we will all meet in Heaven someday... friends for all eternity.]  
  
He died, thinking gentle thoughts of old friendships and pacts, a quick, painless, almost pleasant death. It was the only one that would occur in Hogsmeade that week.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The second body hit the wall above the door of the Hog's Head two minutes after the first sprayed it's load of death and destruction upon the horrified crowd outside the Three Broomsticks. It was an understatement to say it exploded when it hit the stone wall; it was annihilated, scattering blood, gore, and flesh everywhere. The bartender, the three people inside at the time, and every single person for blocks around became infected by the blast. One witness, a hag who thought she'd seen everything, became violently ill when she saw the body hit and puked up her lunch in a side alley. Later, as the sickness spread, she wished she had kept it in. It was the last full meal she ever ate.  
  
A third splashed into a large fountain in Hogsmeade's center, the only bad shot Harry's engineer made that day. He'd fired early, and instead of the satisfying splat of a body hitting stone, it hit the water instead. The engineer, frightened of Harry's wrath, looked at him, but Harry waved it off. Harry was kind and understanding to those who served him, a quality that made him less a leader and more a god, and the engineer returned to his job with renewed vigor, wanting to prove his worth to Harry. He made nothing but perfect shots the rest of the day.   
  
The fourth shot also hit water, but this time Harry wanted it to; the water they'd hit was the municipal water supply, a giant pool located near the "back" of the city. The pool flowed into magical aqueducts, which gave the city it's drinking water. Broken bits of the body floated down these into the city, and any who drank the water ingested the disease with it.  
  
The fifth and sixth shots both hit important centers and buildings, but the seventh was special. The seventh shot hit Fred and George's new Joke Shop. Fred and George, using the money Harry had given them at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, had hastened plans to build it when Hogwarts was canceled for the year. Both were inside when the body shattered the windows. Both were infected.  
  
The disease had been spread, and now Harry would wait.  
  
And watch.  
  
- I'm splitting this into two parts. It's too damn big to make one chapter. Expect part 2- Neville's choice, and the plague of Hogsmeade- to arrive soon! 


	15. Chapter 12 Part 2: A Soldier's Honor

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy  
  
Hey people. No rant this time, just the next chapter and a note. I'm going to put the story back as PG-13. Too many of my friends are having trouble finding my story when it's R. So, as of now, it will be PG-13. I know the constant changes are annoying, but it's not too major, so please bear with me.  
  
As for the reviewers:  
  
ZeonReborn- I was flipping through some war books (quite fun to read) when I came upon a note about how, during the black plague, corpse-flinging became a regular army habit. That gave me an idea on how to deal with Hogsmeade. And about Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade... I thought they were connected :). If they're not, please indulge me- I haven't read the books for a while, concentrating on my fanfic.  
  
ShadowWolf- Yay, another male! :) Thanks for the compliments.  
  
Hermy10- Thank you for your support!  
  
Review me please, and please tell your friends to read my story. It makes me feel loved.  
  
Warning to everyone! This is the most grotesque chapter of my story so far, and probably the worst one period! Avoid part of it if you are squeamish- it's R-rated throughout most of the end section!  
  
Enough of that. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Part 2  
  
A Soldier's Honor  
  
  
  
From the front page of the Daily Prophet, one week after Ron and Hermione's visit to the Wizengamot:  
  
HARRY POTTER IS HEAD OF NEW ARMY, WIZENGAMOT OFFICIALS REPORT  
  
In a completely unexpected turn, the Wizengamot has issued a special declaration involving the destruction of Hogwarts and the hostile takeover of Beauxbatons. The force behind this, previously believed to be former Death Eaters, has been revealed as an army calling itself the "Black Tide". In an even more unexpected turn, the leader of this army is none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter.  
  
" We never expected anything like this," Susannah Bones, the de facto Minister of Magic, said. " It's completely unheard of."  
  
Ministry insiders have told this reporter that in a special convention the Wizengamot held last week, an ambassador from yet another never-before-seen army, one in opposition to the Black Tide and calling itself the "White Shore", entered unexpected and unnanounced. One insider, a Wizengamot member who wished to remain anonymous, said that the leaders of this army, an unidentified boy and girl (both in their mid-teens), brought the dead body of one of the Black Tide's soldiers along. The soldier, called a "Marauder" by the White Shore, had been stabbed several times. Apparently, a fierce battle had raged for control of Beauxbatons, one that the White Shore lost. Harry's general, a former student of Hogwarts named Seamus Finnigan and now called the "Black General" by the White Shore, defeated them in battle. This lends credibility to the rumors in France of large armed forces moving throughout the area. All of the surrounding area of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts has been declared Ministry Free Zones and is now considered as under Black Tide control. Durmstrang and the surrounding area is also now a Free Zone, considered as White Shore territory.  
  
The Black Tide has been declared an enemy of the Ministry, and it is gearing for battle. The military draft is now in full effect, and all male Wizards between 20 and 45 who are able are to take their wands and head to the nearest Aurorrecruiting station. This will be the first war since the battle with You-Know-Who ten years ago.  
  
A warning has gone out to all parents of former Beauxbatons and Hogwarts students. The Black Tide is comprised almost entirely of former Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students between ten and eighteen. Despite their age, they are fierce warriors. They have already delved into Necromancy, and all Black Tide members, regardless of age, are to be considered as enemies of the state and captured/killed on sight. Their insignia is a black wave cresting before a dull red sky, set in a rust colored circle on a black background. Parents, beware if your children come home, for they may be Black Tide spies.  
  
The White Shore, also composed of former Beauxbatons and Hogwarts students, has been declared an ally of the Ministry. Their insignia is a white sand beach with blue waves, set in a white circle on a silver background. They are to be helped with anything they need.  
  
Rewards have been offered for these members of the Black Tide, all considered as high-ranking and also extremely dangerous. Information on looks, personality, and distinguishing traits can be found at any Auror recruiting station:  
  
Seamus Finnigan (Eighty Thousand Galleons Alive/Dead)  
  
Ginny Weasley (Seventy-Five Thousand Galleons Alive/Dead)  
  
Neville Longbottom (Seventy Thousand Galleons Alive/ Sixty-Thousand Dead)  
  
Fleur Delacour (Seventy Thousand Galleons Alive/ Sixty-Thousand Dead)  
  
Richard Spithe (Sixty-Five Thousand Alive/ Fifty-Five Thousand dead)  
  
Alex Vicks (Sixty-Five Thousand Alive/ Fifty-Five Thousand dead)  
  
  
  
The reward for Harry Potter, interestingly enough, applies only if he is dead. Two hundred Thousand Galleons have been offered for his dead body.  
  
The Ministry has declared a state of total war. All citizens, be on your guard.  
  
And may the gods help us.  
  
Rita Skeeter  
  
Reporter, Daily Prophet News  
  
************************************************************************  
  
After Harry's initial body-flinging assault on Hogsmeade, his army simply stepped back to wait. All they had to do was keep the citizens inside the city. Gringotts, being one of the only buildings still standing in Diagon Alley, was taken over as an impromptu headquarters. Harry took Tesla's old room, while the men filled up the lower floors. The vampires particularly enjoyed the catacombs, claiming they were quite nice places to rest during the day. The giants liked the vaults as resting places, especially the full ones, where they would lay on the piles of gold and silver and dream of greatness. The snores of sleeping giants filled the catacombs like thunder, echoing throughout the glittering, empty darkness.  
  
Padma had removed herself from the battlefield, stating she needed to commune with the earth in order to get used to her new powers. Harry had met her before she left, and he had been very worried at first. The meeting had taken place outside Gringotts.  
  
Harry, walking back to Gringotts through the streets of Hogsmeade (he was watching the citizen's horrified reactions to the plague bombing with no small amusement), had sensed a great deal of power, power that felt as heavy as a mountain. Taking his mind off the terrified citizens for a moment, he had ran towards Gringotts faster than the eye could follow. Of the few surviving accounts of those weeks in Hogsmeade, one mentions a black blur. The writer, a female witch who was barely thirteen that day (she never reached fourteen), wrote in her diary that " a strange black blur passed through my vision this morn. I was walking through the streets, wondering at the strange events that had passed, when I felt a chill on the back of my neck, and a sense of great foreboding and doom crept across me. I turned, and I saw the black blur, the feelings heightened- and then diminished as the blur passed me. I do not know what it was, but it was evil." She died soon afterward, taken by the plague which eventually became known, both in Hogsmeade and the world, as " Hell's Boils," named for the first sign of infection: massive, bleeding boils on the body.  
  
Harry had reached Gringotts soon afterward. He ran up the stone wall, his feet carrying him vertically, and then ran down the side. He stopped in front of Padma, and for the first time since becoming the Jester, was absolutely stupefied by what he saw. Padma smiled, a soft and royal smile, when she sensed Harry's amazement.  
  
" Harry Potter," she said, her voice low and high, her voice really two, the twin voices of the two beings that now inhabited her body, " I am the Queen of Earth. I send greetings from my King, the Earth itself."  
  
Harry, his confusion lessening as he began to formulate ideas, bowed to her, one arm swept aside and the other across his chest. He never stopped looking at her face as he did it, and stayed bowed as he said, " What greetings does he send?"  
  
" Earth is pleased with you, Harry Potter," Padma said, her voice carrying in the silence of Diagon Alley. Every member of the Black Tide that was present had stopped what they were doing to watch this exchange between the two great beings. " You have done much to overthrow the current world, the rotten and festering thing so much has suffered under. You have risen Earth up high, and my master wishes to reward you."  
  
" How so?" Harry said, still bowed, cocking his head to the side. If it came down to a fight between him and Padma, he thought he could win- but it would probably kill him, just the same. He'd lose a lot of his force, since every Earth Elementalist would fight him and his men. " What reward does Earth wish to give?"  
  
" It's aid," Padma said, and she sweeped her arm out to indicate the soldiers gathered about them. " Earth honors your forces, and now seeks to honor you. Earth offers it's services to you, Harry Potter, Jester King."  
  
Harry smiled under his mask. Looked like he wasn't going to have to fight Padma after all. Harry ducked his head in a proper bow, then straightened up. " I accept your generous offer, Earth."  
  
Padma smiled again, regal as ever. " I myself will retire now," Padma said, her voice her own again since only she was talking, " and commune with my master. I have much to do, Harry Potter. I will return when I am done."  
  
Tendrils of rock, strangely smooth and fluid, came out of the ground at her feet, and began wrapping around her. As the rock closed about her to carry her to a safer place where she could commune in peace, she heard Harry laugh. The sound went with her as she slid down into the darkness.  
  
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In all the history of mankind, there are no stories as wretched, pathetic, and pitiful as those about the victims of a plague. Every story, from the Middle Ages to the present time, has the same elements to it: the pain and suffering of the victims, the well-intentioned but misguided attempts of others to relieve the victims, and a sad, sober ending in death. At times, other ingredients are added to the recipe- a besieging army, a noble doctor, orphaned children- but the basics remain the same.  
  
Of all these stories, none have ever quite matched the agonizing tale of Hogsmeade.  
  
Hogsmeade, mostly relying on Hogwarts to keep it alive, was much like a Muggle "campus town", save that it was full of Wizards. Due to the size of Hogwarts, it had been a rather large place before, but when Hogwarts was shut down by the Ministry (and subsequently destroyed by Harry), it lost the majority of it's business. Many shops closed, but the owners did not always move on. With the Ministry now on full alert to beware of Harry (notices were posted everywhere) and the Black Tide, the entire Wizarding world was in chaos. Several Wizard towns and cities had stopped immigrants from coming in, from fear that they would be Black Tide members. Those from Hogsmeade were completely banned from even more towns. The reasoning was that anybody from a place so close to Harry's power base would be even more likely to be a Black Tide member. Despite Ministry statements that Harry's army was mostly under 21, these towns would not be moved. So, the now penniless former shopkeepers merely stayed in Hogsmeade, begging and trying to scrape out a living in the dirt.  
  
Soon after the Ministry's declaration about the Black Tide, a large number of Ministry soldiers (two companies in all) set up shop in Hogsmeade. The new influx of customers helped the dying economy revive itself, and some who had left Hogsmeade returned to it.  
  
These factors all contributed to making the plague in Hogwarts the worst in history.  
  
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The first two days were totally unconcerned with the plague. Most of the citizens were dead (though they did not know it), and so they attempted to escape Hogsmeade. Unfortunately for them, most of the army was concentrated at Diagon Alley, the biggest and most obvious escape route, and they were under strict orders to kill the citizens before they got far enough to infect the soldiers. Every soldier who took up archer duty wore one of Cho's purifying masks, to protect themselves from the disease. Several soldiers, ditching bow and arrow for goblin technology, were seen lugging out Hygars and Splicers in an attempt to figure the guns out. Seamus himself participated, enjoying the feel of his new Bayonet.  
  
One man, the first to die, scaled the wall Padma had created. He reached the top and had time to shout " Oh shit!" before Seamus blew his head off. The white beam of energy instantly vaporized the top half of his face, and his body fell backwards, the lower half of his fleshy jaws still smoking. Screams rang out in the crowd in front of the Three Broomsticks. Women passed out, and three men grabbed their wands and began climbing. One got to the top and was immediately shot dead by an archer, the arrow sticking out of his eye; the second got to the top and fired off a spell (he missed) before a Marauder, testing his new Splicer out, pierced his body with multiple shots; and the third managed to actually stand on the top and fire off a spell (hitting and wounding one Marauder) before being pierced through the heart. His dead body fell forward, hitting the pavement on the Black Tide side of the wall with a thick, meaty splat. On the Hogsmeade side, more women fainted. Throughout that day, many tried to get past the wall. None made it. Several dead bodies lay limply over the wall, testimony to the power of the Tide.  
  
The second day, the boils began appearing on the first victims. But most of them ignored the boils, thinking it was nothing but a bad rash. They hurt and bled a little, but only one or two had appeared so far, so the victims thought nothing of it. Someone proposed the idea of going through the sewers. The sewer system was where the solid waste was taken- the magical aqueducts carried liquid waste, but no citizen of Hogsmeade wanted to look at the marble aqueducts and see someone's crap literally floating in them. So underground sewers, much like a Muggles, were made. The citizens who entered the sewers soon found themselves facing Neville Longbottom and his Elementalists. They had transformed themselves into crocodiles, and when the victims came by they simply tore them to pieces. Neville himself led the attacks, though his conscience bothered him greatly. No citizen escaped their grasping jaws.  
  
Another group had struck out for the back of the city. They were the worst off; Ginny had stationed her Necromancers there. The group was slaughtered by zombies before they got within a mile of the town's perimeter. They then rose up and began walking their own patrol route, the former victims now soldiers of their killer. Ginny herself flew over Hogsmeade at regular intervals, checking to see how her disease worked. She was rather anticipating the effects.  
  
The third day was the day it really began to effect the citizens. The boils, before only itchy and bleeding, now were openly busting open and spewing forth their contents of blood and pus. The retching began, and the streets were filled with the sounds of puking. The citizen's panicked but energetic attempts to escape were replaced with dull eyed, weakened citizens who attempted to escape slowly, almost as if it were a job and not something they wanted to do. They were all killed. The disease, so far, had killed no one, but that would soon change.  
  
The fourth and fifth days really started the trouble. One side effect of Ginny's plague was that, before the disease robbed the body of health entirely, the victims would go insane. She'd added it to have a little fun, and thought that the next two days would be very, very interesting. She was right. The only new physical problem the citizens suffered was a severe cold, but alongside the cold was a burning heat in their minds.  
  
The members of a Knockturn Alley potion shop, sure that a rival had started the plague, decided to kill him. The potion workers began creating a potion to burn him alive, but one of them (hacking and coughing) added the wrong ingredient. The result was a gout of flame visible for miles. Most of Knockturn Alley was destroyed, either immediately by the explosion or later by the fires that resulted. Ginny, flying above them, found it hilarious. One old woman, too weak to move, was left behind by her family as the fire encroached upon her. She stared at it, watching the flames come closer, until her eyes were burned out of her face. Several other explosions rocked Hogsmeade as other potion shops went up in flames. Many people perished in the flames.  
  
A Ministry soldier, the madness gripping him, slaughtered his commander and most of his superiors with his hatchet as they slept that morning. The Ministry's army headquarters in Hogsmeade, not having been used for ten years, was a broken down, trashy place. The commander had ordered the soldier to sleep in a room that was in such poor condition that the floor was always threatening to drop out. The soldier had stepped into the bathroom that morning, and tripped over a jutting board. The madness immediately stepped in, and he decided that the commander and his superiors were doing this on purpose, giving him such a shitty room.  
  
[ The bastards,] he thought savagely, grabbing his hatchet. [I'll show them. I'll rend them apart!]  
  
He had went into his commander's room, took one look at the sleeping officer, and hacked twice down, hard, on his sleeping face. The twin blows sheared his brain connections, and he jerked only once before laying still. The soldier, looking at the bloody hatchet and grinning maniacally ( a grin Harry would be very, very familiar with) had proceeded to chop up four of his other superiors, effectively eliminating the high command, before his sickened brain caused him to chop up the magical communications equipment (one of his superiors had owned and operated it, giving him enough reason to go after it). The comm. device (which was a crystal ball) shattered when he struck it, and two pieces went in his eyes. He screamed and jerked about until one of his fellow soldiers, seeing the bloody hatchet in his hand, had killed him with a spell. The city was now cut off from the world- the crystal ball had been the only piece of magical comm. equipment in the city, and all owls leaving the city were killed by Black Tide archers. No help would come from outside.  
  
The last major event, one that pleased Ginny to no end, was the destruction and collapse of the entire municipal water supply. On the fifth day of the plague, George Weasley walked up to the enormous, magically supported water pool. It hung there, floating in the air above the ground, seemingly supported by nothing (invisible walls held it up- it allowed the water checkers to see inside the tank and made for a beautiful sight), silently flowing into the aqueducts suspended on their marble columns. George was alone. Fred had died in one of the blasts at Knockturn Alley; he'd went to Knockturn Alley to save a friend he knew there when a potion shop behind him blew, and the flames blasted outward and killed him. George, who'd been growing sicker day by day, had lost his mind when news of his brother's death came to him. He'd brooded in his shop, and in his madness he decided to put out the fires that had killed his brother. To do this, he was going to open the invisible barriers holding up the municipal water supply. In his hand he held the magic rune key that operated the barriers. He'd gotten it from the dead body of it's previous owner. When the man had refused to give it to him, George had simply strangled him and taken it.  
  
Standing before the water supply, George raised the rune key. Shouting, " For you, Fred!" he threw it to the ground as hard as he could. It broke, and the barriers vanished instantly. The water hit the ground, released from it's prison, and George's last thought  
  
[ Oh shit I've done it now Mom is going to KILL me]  
  
arrived right before the water did. The flood smashed into him and shattered every bone in his body, crushing him into nothingness. The flood didn't wipe out the fires in Knockturn Alley, however. Hogsmeade was built on a slight slope, and the slope carried the water away from Knockturn Alley. It destroyed the Shrieking Shack on it's way, and the weight of the water broke the already weakened foundations of the streets (Padma's earthquake hadn't physically hurt Hogsmeade's surface, but it had weakened anything underground). The water cracked them wide open, and joined with the sewer water to create a floodtide of garbage and filth. Neville and his Elementalists, warned by Ginny beforehand, observed this from a safe distance. The water destroyed almost everything in it's way, knocking down buildings, people, and animals, and in the end created a huge, impassable river of sewage that blocked off the last escape routes from the city. Now, what was left of the dying citizens of Hogsmeade were trapped between a stone wall and the Tide on one side, a fire by the other, and a lake on the last side, triangling them inside. Only a person of extraordinary strength and will could have escaped. No person like that was still alive in Hogsmeade. The citizens could do nothing but wait in the ruins of their homes. Wait... and die.  
  
The sixth day was when the madness ebbed and the disease entered the final stages. Diarrhea and extreme physical debiliation became common. Most of the citizens couldn't walk, and stayed where they were, still puking and suffering extreme diarrhea as well. Their bodies were essentially emptied of all vital nutrients, starving to death slowly. Their eyes were coated in a milky substance, a by-product of the bacteria which was killing them. They lost their sight that day, and lay on their beds, screaming in pain.  
  
The seventh day (the last day for most of them), the body began to swell up. The disease's bacteria began to explode inside the body, releasing millions of other bacteria, which in turn exploded as well. The result was a massive build-up of air and mass in the body which caused them to bloat and swell up, like drowned bodies in a river. In some cases, the bloating was so severe they ruptured, and several people popped like overfull balloons. Unlike balloons, however, organs and blood sprayed out when they popped, instead of harmless air. Those that lived (very few now) were too tired to even scream. The bloated tissues began to rot as the newly created bacteria began to poison the flesh, turning it black and sullen.  
  
The Black Tide, deciding it was time to retreat, headed back to Oceania via the Portkeys. They'd lost some men, but they'd completely annihilated Diagon Alley. And, with the gold and other treasures looted from Gringotts, they were more powerful than ever. The three remaining Elemental Orbs were taken to the half-completed Jester's Keep for safe-keeping. Ginny stayed behind, wanting to see how long it would take the victims to die. She remained for only a day. The last victim, a tough and strong young Wizard who had refused to die until the very end, expired the night after the Tide had left. She landed, looked at his corpse, and smiled. Mentally congratulating herself that her disease worked perfectly, she flew off, heading towards Oceania. She had been given the task to destroy the Portkeys, and had done so perfectly. None remained.   
  
All that was left in Hogsmeade were the corpses of the dead. But even in that, something had been taken. Not a single Black Tide member's body lay in Hogsmeade. They'd been taken away by Ginny's Necromancers.  
  
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A week later.  
  
Ginny's foresight in taking the bodies of the Black Tide away had paid off. The Ministry was completely shaken. They thought that the Black Tide had managed to destroy all of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley without a single loss of life. The Ministry had found out about Hogsmeade's destruction when a third Auror company, sent to trade places with one of those already in Hogsmeade, arrived and saw the lake, still there two days after the plague had ended. When they managed to cross it, they saw the horrific destruction and immediately called Auror headquarters. The Daily Prophet had come as well, and Ron and Hermione had visited Hogsmeade too. They were safe from the plague; it was a short-lived plague on purpose, for Harry wished to rule the world, not poison it and kill it. Hence, the plague lasted only a few hours after it's host died. No one outside Hogsmeade was affected. The Daily Prophet had several articles calling it the most "heinous assault in history." After deciding Harry was behind it ( "Who else could it be?" Rita Skeeter wondered in print in the Daily Prophet. " You-Know-Who?"), the bounty on the heads of the Black Tide members was doubled and, in Harry's case, tripled. Harry found it funny and had it tacked to the wall of the hall in the Jester's Keep, which had been completed. Padma had returned, and had her own special building made entirely out of stone. She'd made it in the space of an hour. The Earth Elementalists resided inside it as well, and the Orb of Earth remained with Padma, glowing dark green on Padma's wrist.  
  
Harry and his men had been celebrating the victory, and ended the week-long celebration with a banquet. Neville had been brooding all week, and during the banquet he left. Harry watched him go with something very akin to amused curiosity. He had thought Neville would assault him by now, and was wondering if he was going to go gather up his guts to do it. If he came back, he'd ruin the banquet, but it would be nice to have a chance to exercise. Killing was so much fun.  
  
Harry was very close; Neville was trying to decide whether to continue as he was or try to stop Harry. He knew he didn't have a chance in hell of killing Harry, but he thought he could wreck some serious havoc with the internal support system for the Tide. But, he didn't know if he wanted to.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Water, flowing out from the room the Orbs stayed in. Fire, Earth's natural ally, had been talking with it's Elementalists (though it had not chosen a King or Queen- it was afraid Earth would take offense and attack it) for some time, and Air had been humble towards all (it was scared to death of Earth's new power and madness)- but Water had remained silent.  
  
* NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM.*  
  
He turned to look in it's direction. Considering calling it "Master" and deciding not to, he talked with the Orb as an equal.  
  
" Yes?" he said, alone in the passage. It seemed that he was talking to himself; only he could hear Water.  
  
* COME INTO MY ROOM.*  
  
Neville walked towards the room, rounding the completed stone corridors of the castle. The guards of the Elemental Orb room saw him coming and let him through. He nodded to them in passing, almost unconsciously, to show them he acknowledged their presence. He did not know how far the trappings of power had penetrated him, but they had. They had penetrated very deeply indeed.  
  
Inside, the Orb of Water glowed. The wall's were bare stone with torches set in them, and a single red carpet embroidered with gold leading from the door to the center of the room coated the floor. The middle of the room was raised, and on three pedestals standing there lay the Orbs of the Elements. Fire was in the middle, glowing a cheery red, like a campfire. Air, glowing a dull white that was almost unnoticeable, lay to Neville's right. On the left Water, shining a deep blue like the sea, lay on it's marble pedestal. It spoke again.  
  
*NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM. YOU HAVE SERVED HARRY OUT OF REGARD FOR YOUR OATH, AND I KNOW YOU ARE A LOYAL, HONORABLE MAN. BUT, IS YOUR OATH REALLY SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU MUST SERVE SUCH A DARK, DESPICABLE MAN FOR IT? IS IT REALLY WORTH IT?*  
  
And then, Neville made a choice. Before the Orb even asked, he made a choice that would forever change the world.  
  
* I WILL GRANT YOU MY POWER, THE POWER OF THE OCEANS. WITH IT, DESTROY OCEANIA. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO KILL HARRY, BUT YOU CAN DESTROY HIS POWER. DESTROY IT... REDEEM YOURSELF.*  
  
" No."  
  
The Orb, believing that Neville would agree, was shocked by this into silence. Neville kept going, the words spilling out faster and faster, as everything became clear to him.  
  
" No, I will not go against Harry Potter. He was my friend before this. He is my friend now. And, as you said, I am a loyal, honorable man. But you know what? I found out something about myself. Something that I can be proud of here, in the Black Tide. Something I found out when I became what I am now."  
  
" All that's in me, when you get right down to it, is a will for power. What I didn't have before but have now. You know what? I think Fate planned on something very, very different. I think Fate wanted me to be a weak, snivelling thing my whole life." He sweeped his arm out and turned slowly in a circle, hand indicating the castle all around. " And I've beaten it. Look at me now. Head of the Elementalists. I sit at the heads of tables holding the most powerful people I've ever known. I've fought on battlefields and proved my worth. I've trained others, and all respect me." He stepped forward then, facing the crystal, and his voice raised. The guards outside, hearing him, stepped in but were stopped. Power was starting to flow all around Neville as he continued talking, his voice rising to a shout. " I will not be a weak thing. If this is my truth, if power is all I want, then I take it with both hands!" Here he grabbed the Orb of Water, his two hands clenching it tightly. Power erupted all around him, blue power that he absorbed, power that glowed brighter and brigher. " I take that strength! It is my will, and my will shapes my own destiny! THIS IS MY TRUTH!" This last was shouted.  
  
And blue power flared.  
  
- So there. Neville didn't go good after all. (Sticks tongue out at all who doubted him). See you next chapter. Trust me, you'll enjoy the next one. And it won't be so gross- this is the last time I'm describing the effects of Hell's Boils. 


	16. Chapter 13, Part 1: Laughter in the Dark...

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]-Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hey, everybody. It's Silverlocke980 once more. This is the next chapter of Harry's Madness. Now, a response for the reviewers (those that I remember, anyway; if I don't add you, blame the head and not the heart. My internet has been on the fritz lately, and I haven't seen the reviews for a while as of this writing.).  
  
FireFaeire23: But a good Neville screws up EVERYTHING! (moons FireFaerie23) Ha! Beat that! (sticks tongue out again)  
  
Integra-Hellsing: YES! Another Hellsing fan! I knew there had to be others (dances around). And hey, good eye- I did get the idea for Whipstitch from the Abominations. Warcraft 3 rocks. And for the frost dragons (mulls it over)... maybe.  
  
Viraten: Thanks for the kudos.  
  
DestinedKnight23: The reason Fire and Air haven't taken a King/Queen is simple: they're scared of Earth. Fire, being Earth's natural ally, is more worried about offending Earth than getting annihilated, but Air is Earth's natural enemy and is scared shitless.  
  
And now, a moment that you've all been (apparently) waiting for,  
  
THE FIRST BATTLE WITH VOLDEMORT!  
  
So, now, without further ado, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Laughter in the Darkness  
  
Two days after banquet at Oceania. A remote location in England.  
  
In England, in a small and almost unnoticeable street, there is a house. That house, although seeming to be just like all others, is actually a fortress that is nearly impregnable. A fortress... that Voldemort had built.  
  
Inside this house, which seems to be one story tall on the outside and is actually four stories tall on the inside, Voldemort sat in his library. Books of secrets dark and deep lined the walls. The room was painted black, and lit by a single candle. Voldemort sat at a desk of ash wood, and the candle burned gloomily before him. No window looked upon the world from this room of darkness.  
  
Voldemort looked down once more at the paper. Although the Daily Prophet would be horrified to know it, Voldemort was an avid subscriber, under the false name "Tomas Ridel", a perversion of his birth name (he found it funny). He always read the newspaper; the Daily Prophet was run by a pack of fools, and they often told things that should have been left unsaid. But this newspaper- one he had read three times already- was different.  
  
" Hogsmeade wiped out," Voldemort read, mumbling under his breath. " Black Tide responsible." The article continued onwards to a sentence that he kept reading, one that said, " A strange and somewhat terrifying thing is the fact that no bodies of Black Tide members have been found." And past that, one even worse in it's implications, " This has led many to believe that they lost not one soldier in the battle."  
  
He shook his head. He wasn't scared (he was Voldemort, after all, and nothing could stand against him) but he was worried. A group capable of laying low Hogsmeade without one fatality was a mighty force indeed. They might delay his plans. He stood up from his chair.  
  
" Wormtail!" he called. Wormtail was a snivelling little bastard in Voldemort's opinion, but he was loyal. Wormtail ran into the room, breath puffing. His tongue hang out as he said, " Yes, my Master?"  
  
Voldemort, standing up, said, " Call together my forces. Just one company- I don't want to gather too many at once. We're making our move."  
  
Wormtail nodded at his master. Eagerness shown in his face- he'd been waiting for this moment for too long, it seemed.  
  
The moment Voldemort took the throne.  
  
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Oceania, same day.  
  
His eyes blazing with blue power, the subject of many conversations at the Laughing Mug walked down the street. His blue robes trailed behind him. And on his forehead, trapped by Neville's hunger, the Orb of Water pulsed. Thin veins of flesh covered it; it had grown to become part of him.  
  
That day, which to Neville was an eternity ago but was really only two days, Neville had grasped the Orb of Water. It had tried to destroy him, literally flooding his mind with power in an attempt to overload him. But he had absorbed it, absorbed it all. He hungered for it, nursed at it like a babe, and in the end even Water's power was finite before that hunger. He had trapped it, trapped it with his greed for power. Now, he was a special thing, a thing not seen before on this world, not a King or Queen of the Elements, but a Master. A Ruler of his element. Padma was her element's symbiote, and could use most of Earth's power, but only Neville could truly tap all the powers of his element. And why not? For it was now a part of him, a part that always fought, but never won. The night he gained it was quickly becoming a legend in Oceania, and the two guards continued to tell their story (and get free drinks for it).  
  
The guards outside the room had been paralyzed by the blue force flowing about Neville, and had stood still, shocked and gaping, when the power flowed into him. The orb had lifted out of his hands and struck his forehead, where his skin grew about it. His body had changed, then, the force of the power inside him making it grow and shift. One of the guards, a man named Kyle, had said that Neville seemed to shift into something... different. He was an unlearned man, and was never able to describe quite what Neville had done. But, if he had known them, he would have said that Neville became more, became deeper and darker and fell through the pitiful dream we think of as reality to BECOME. But, he was never able to put it in words, and fell into a depression later, being unable to make others understand what he had seen.  
  
The shift lasted a mere second, and then the power stopped. Harry, who had sensed the burst, had ran past the banquet tables in a flash. Stopping in the doorway, he looked at Neville and stood amazed. He briefly remembered that Neville had once been a weak, bumbling person who was best described as " pathetic." Could that same person be before him? Neville stood now, wearing robes of the deepest blue, and on his hands cuffs of pearl entwined with gold. His tunic was black, as the abyss of the oceans is black, and it was inlaid with sapphires. He was grinning, a grin that instantly reminded Harry of himself, and his eyes flashed with blue. He was panting, and sweat dropped across his forehead. It ran across the Orb of Water, glowing there. Neville saw him enter, and his grin spread even farther, seeming to touch his ears. To Harry, it was the grin of a jackal after feasting.  
  
" Hello, my Liege. Sorry to... interrupt the banquet... but I had... business to attend to," Neville said, gasping between bursts of words.  
  
" Neville?" Harry said, wondering what in the hells had just happened. " What... has happened?" His mind, a tool that was now geared for cunning, began immediately forming plans. " Have you merged with the Orb of Water?"  
  
Neville nodded, the grin never leaving his face. " To better serve you... Harry Potter. The Orb thought... it would make trouble. I decided to stop it... and gain power as well." He bowed to Harry, sinking to one knee on the floor. " My King."  
  
Harry, relieved that Neville wasn't going to fight him (they were still good friends, oddly enough), made a bow to him as he had to Padma, although now he ducked his head properly the first time. " Arise, Neville."  
  
The Black Tide soldiers, just arriving from the banquet, stood staring at Neville as he walked out. They stared at the Orb on his forehead, and seeing them gape Neville laughed.  
  
" Ah yes, things will change! Things have changed. Let us eat, Harry- I'm starving."  
  
And so saying, he and Harry had put their arms on each other's shoulders and walked back towards the banquet. Harry had laughed, and Neville laughed with him.  
  
[ Why did it ever bother me before?] Neville wondered as they walked back. [ That laugh is nothing.]  
  
He did not realize that he and Harry sounded the same.  
  
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The Water Elementalists, hearing Water's agonized cries (many of which consisted of " No! How can this be?" and things of that nature), were initially torn between saving it and serving Harry. Seamus, sensing trouble, won them over with a simple argument: was it Water or Harry Potter that had given them power? They elected to serve Harry. To prevent future problems, Neville eventually asked Cho to make a ring for him that would shut Water up. He (literally) had voices in his head, and would like them to stop. She was happy to oblige. On his hands he now had a ring of pearl with a black rune slashed on it. The rune was the magical equivalent of a gag; Water couldn't even whimper as long as Neville had it. This cheered him up greatly.  
  
Today Neville was taking a company of Black Tide soldiers to Lunas. Lunas had recently been threatened by Ministry forces, and Neville was going to reinforce them. Besides, Lunas was situated near a beautiful lake. What better place to test his powers?  
  
On his way to the front gates (which had been rebuilt; the formerly rickety-but-serviceable wooden towers were now of stone from the Boneyards at Lunas,  
  
which had ended up becoming the de facto mining operation of the Tide), Neville saw Seamus and Ginny talking. The two had become rather good friends, which many people (Neville included) found strange. The Black General and Necromancer were currently standing at the base of one of the towers. Seamus was leaning against it, and Ginny was standing before him, her wings swept behind her. As he approached the meeting place of his company (they were already outside, waiting for him), he caught a snatch of their conversation.  
  
Ginny said, " Hm. So how does he propose to find him?"  
  
Seamus shrugged, and said, " Don't know. But it's Harry. I doubt that there's a whole hell of a lot he can't do."  
  
Ginny chuckled at that, a normal chuckle for once. " No kidding. Just look around us... I don't think anyone else could have pulled this off."  
  
Seamus nodded, then chuckled. Just before Neville was out of earshot, he heard Seamus say something that made him smile.  
  
" I don't think anyone else would have been crazy enough."  
  
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Voldemort would not have been too happy to know it, but Harry was actively looking for him. Harry wanted him dead for many reasons; there was, of course, the old revenge he'd had in mind for some time now (which, for obvious reasons, was no longer as important to him), but he also didn't want his forces split up between three enemies. Two was enough at the moment.  
  
Harry possessed the ability to find the darkness in people's souls; being one of the darkest souls now on the planet, it was familiar to him, even comforting. He never really knew why he could, just as a shark doesn't know why it can smell blood from miles off; it just does. When searching, Harry would sit in his chair (an exceptionally comfy throne he'd created; no reason to suffer in one of those straight-backed nightmares), put his fingers in a "steeple", and close his physical eyes. When he did, he concentrated, and in his mind he saw the world in hues of gray. Whenever he saw a living being with a soul, he saw how evil they were; good souls shone with white, while dark souls throbbed with ebony. He could move this eye with sheer force of will, but it generally sought out the darkest souls in the area on its own. He had a lot of trouble at first with Ginny; the eye wanted to do nothing but stare at her. She was black, almost through and through, so the eye automatically sought her. He eventually learned to wrench it away from her, and sent it around England, questing for Voldemort.  
  
Voldemort being THE darkest soul on the planet (Harry would pass him, though; oh, would he ever), Harry had thought it would be simple to find him. While Voldemort was in his fortress, however, Harry had been thwarted. The magical wards prevented even his searching eye from looking within. Voldemort's own eagerness to fight would destroy him in the end. The second he left, Harry's eye opened and saw him. And in the Jester's Keep, miles away, Harry grinned. He continued watching Voldemort, noting his location. As invisible as wind, he followed.  
  
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Voldemort and Wormtail left Voldemort's fortress soon after Wormtail had returned from the summoning. Voldemort sensed a presence behind them, but he stopped to check with his powers and found nothing (Harry had seen this coming and flown the eye below Voldemort, into the ground. A simple trick, but effective nonetheless- the eye was insubstantial and invisible to normal sight). Judging it bad nerves, he continued following Wormtail, who had stood nearby, wringing his hands. His new hand, which no longer glowed as it did when he had received it, was doing most of the wringing on his normal hand. He was half-afraid it would fall off if he wrung it. Voldemort turned, and without explaining his sudden stop to his servant, continued on. Wormtail followed, even his steps seeming to verge on cringing. Harry felt sudden distaste for Voldemort. Pathetic. If this was how Voldemort's servants acted around him, it would be too easy to disrupt them. Harry was evil, but had his own honor; he never betrayed his servants if they stood by him. They trusted and honored (and in Cho's case loved) him. Nothing built on fear ever stood for long.  
  
Voldemort continued on, until he reached a small park. In the middle, mostly screened by a grove of trees, a group of Death Eaters stood. Harry moved his eye over to them. They were talking in low voices. Harry was amused by the range of their chatter; they were clearly scared shitless of Voldemort. One wondered aloud if Voldemort was going to kill them. Several shivered and looked ready to run. Harry wished his eye included telepathy; a single well-placed laugh and they'd all be running for their lives. His original fears about Voldemort dissipated; this would be far easier than he thought. He might have been hot stuff ten years ago, but Harry kicked his ass once and would do it again. Moving his eye to a safe perch in a nearby tree, he watched the proceedings below.  
  
Voldemort entered the circle. They gazed at him, and dropped to one knee, each saying " Master" to him. Harry, even more amused at this, privately wondered if Voldemort wanted them to kiss his shoe as well. The cocky bastard had an ego larger than Gringotts, vaults included.  
  
Nodding to them, he said in his slithering voice (one that didn't bother Harry anymore), " Excellent. You've all come. Now, Beatrice," he turned to one of the female Death Eaters, one who looked very scared at the attention, " what news from our forces?"  
  
She nodded at him, then tried to speak. She cleared her throat several times (during which Harry privately heckled her in his thoughts- this was ridiculous to him) and then managed, " Fine, Dark Lord. We have thirty dementors, a tribe of giants, two tribes of trolls, a raiding party of orcs, and various assorted monsters. We also have five hundred Death Eaters at the ready."  
  
Voldemort nodded, while Harry gaped in disbelief. Five hundred? So few? Hell, he could wipe out the entire group with half of his forces. The monsters might be a problem, and the "assorted monsters" comment was worrisome, but not much. What could possibly make up the difference in sheer size?  
  
Voldemort said, as Harry shook his head in wonder that this man had once brought the Wizarding World to it's knees, " That's not enough. (Harry wholeheartedly agreed.) Gather together twice as many- both in Wizards and monsters- within a month. I want them for an assault I'm planning."  
  
Beatrice nodded to him, then said, " Where, my lord? We don't know where their at..."  
  
Voldemort laughed. " You may not, but I do. They are in the Black Forest. I found them with my magicks- an area where reality bends. Where much evil is contained in one soul. He's much like me now." He laughed. " We will assault them at their home. We will destroy them there."  
  
Harry, snorting to himself as he retracted his eye and closed it, thought not. He laughed as he reentered the Jester's Keep.  
  
Voldemort turned, ignoring one of his servant's comments on how it would be impossible to find more servants in a month's time. He thought he'd heard something- laughter in the darkness. But no. He shook his head and dismissed it. Nerves, that was all.  
  
But still, that night, he wondered.  
  
- The next part of Chapter 13 is coming soon! Hate to leave you hanging, but this chapter's pretty long anyway (an annoying habit of mine). See you soon- I won't make you hang for long without throwing a rope out. 


	17. Chapter 13, Part 2: Forest of Spears

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hey everyone. I wasn't kidding about not leaving you hanging for long (throws a rope out to fans/reviewers hanging on cliff edge), so here you go. And one of my reviewers said that Voldemort was going to get a boot in his ass. You hit the nail right on the head :).  
  
Also, I just noticed this. This is the first chapter with Voldemort really in the story- and it's numbered 13. Huh. Well. Didn't plan it, but it's fitting nonetheless.  
  
For those wondering about the numbers. I made a mistake in Chapter 10. I stated that Harry had fourteen thousand troops, but accidently put in a 1400, which is fourteen HUNDRED. Whoops.  
  
I won't waste time with fancy introductions, so it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Part 2  
  
Forest of Spears  
  
  
  
There are almost as many ways to wage war as there are people in this world. Seamus Finnigan wanted to try them all out. He had fallen in love with war, with strategy. The woods of the Black Forest were his favorite place to try out new strategies. He had virtually eliminated all of the centaur (a few bands still existed, but nowhere near enough to threaten even small companies in the woods), and even Aragog's hordes had declined from his efforts. He knew the woods like the back of his hand. This was very bad for Voldemort.  
  
When Harry had returned from viewing Voldemort, he'd called Seamus to him. When he got there, Harry had told of what he'd seen. Seamus had smiled, and told Harry to leave it to him. He'd then asked if he could borrow Ginny's services for a while. Harry had agreed and sent a message to Lunas ( Lunas and Oceania had set up Portkeys to each other, making travel relatively simple). Ginny had come, leaving Lamium to run the Boneyards while she was gone. She and Seamus began planning immediately. They wanted to be ready when Voldemort came.  
  
Ready... and waiting.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Voldemort's Fortress. 25 days after meeting.  
  
Voldemort looked at the orb on his desk, mentally commanding it to show the date. It was May 28, almost June. He privately fumed. He'd hoped to rid himself of Harry before June, but the incompetent fools who worked for him had managed to mess it up again. He sighed, then sat down in his chair in the library. No, that wasn't entirely fair. It wasn't just his servant's fault. It was partly his own.  
  
He rubbed his temples with his fingers, an old habit he had inherited from his Muggle father (he did not know this). Damn. He'd never expected that day, so long ago, to cost him this much. In front of his servants, he swore revenge on those who did not return to him, but in private he worried. So few had come back...  
  
He ran the numbers off in his head. His current forces, all counted, numbered 6 companies, each consisting of 3 battalions. Each battalion consisted of at least a thousand Death Eaters, and various other creatures and monsters. He could only guess how large Harry's force was. Guessing from the spiritual flow and ebb from Oceania, he guessed that Harry had about half as many men as he did ( which was close; Harry's active force in Oceania numbered eight thousand, almost half of Voldemort's 18,000. The other five thousand troops were in Lunas at the moment with Neville and Spithe). He had changed his original plan to include two companies instead of one. He didn't think he'd have any trouble. Harry's army had no idea he was coming, he thought, and with surprise on his side the size difference wouldn't matter. They'd be dead before they knew it.  
  
Voldemort took a deep, calming breath, leaned back, and began to drift off in his chair. Ah, yes. He just needed some sleep; no teenager, regardless of luck, would defeat him.  
  
Voldemort himself was not going. Instead, Crabbe and Goyle would lead. Both were stupid, but able to do whatever they were told. The plan was simple: Kill everyone in Oceania. Surprise would win the day for them.  
  
Which was exactly what Seamus and Ginny thought.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The next day, two days before Voldemort's assault.  
  
In all of warfare, there are two primary advantages which, when put together or used seperately, comprise the most effective of all tactics. The first, and less strategic, method is to simply have greater numbers. The second and even greater of these primary advantages is surprise. Seamus and Ginny had both. They also had many other advantages- time, preparation, knowledge of the area- but these two were the most important.  
  
Harry and Seamus, using Harry's eye and Seamus' brain, managed to come up with three possible entries for Voldemort. One was a route from Hogwarts, one from the south, and the last from the opposite end of the Forest from Hogwarts, which bordered a Wizard town called Firion's Gate. Firion's Gate had been friendly towards the Tide, and this led to Harry and Seamus devising a plan.  
  
Seamus dispatched three squads in the weeks following his and Harry's first meeting- two to destroy the paths from Hogwarts and the one at Firion's Gate, while the third began constructing traps and hidden ambush points on the southern end. Meanwhile, Seamus had went to Firion's Gate to meet with the Mayor.  
  
When he had arrived, the townspeople of Firion's Gate looked at him, then went on their business. A small Wizarding town that had started as a stopping place for workers on the Hogwarts Express, it had been mostly passed over as a campus town when free trips to Hogsmeade became the fashion of the school. With most of the townspeople still resentful of this fact, they'd rather applauded Hogwarts' destruction (if silently), and had accepted the Black Tide. They'd heard of the atrocities in Hogsmeade, and the sour heart of the town had applauded this poetic justice too. Sentiment for the Tide had been rising for some time.  
  
Seamus entered the office of the Mayor, a relatively young man with a long, drooping mustache of sandy brown hair. He had far less hair on the top of his head, although his thick eyebrows (which usually stayed bunched up, due to the man's temperament) apparently were trying to make up for the shiny scalp above them. When Seamus entered, the Mayor had stood up and shaken his hand, while asking if he could call him Seamus (Seamus desperately attempted to remember the Mayor's name for most of this time) and then telling him to sit down. Seamus sat in a small red chair in front, while the Mayor (whose name Seamus suddenly remembered: [ Cameron,] he thought, [ that's his name,]) sat in his own big, plush swivel chair.  
  
" Well, Seamus- you don't mind me calling you that, do you?" he asked for the third time since Seamus had walked in.  
  
Briefly considering telling him hell yes, he minded, Seamus said, " No, that's fine."  
  
" Well then, Seamus, what does the Black Tide want with our little town of Firion's Gate?" Cameron's mustache twitched as he talked.  
  
Seamus, switching to his persuasive tone, said, " Why, to help you acheive your dreams."  
  
Cameron, his moustache twitching, said, " Yes? How?" He suddenly seemed nervous, jumpy, even.  
  
Seamus looked towards a nearby window. The view was pretty- blue skies, white clouds. The sounds of laughing children and a generally peaceful village floated in on the breeze.  
  
" This town," Seamus began, using a pre-planned, rehearsed speech he and Ginny had devised, " deserves better. You are good people, deserving of more than the Ministry can give. But not more," and here he looked back at Cameron, whose twitch was getting worse, " than what the Tide can give you."  
  
Cameron nodded at Seamus. He'd known this would come. Ever since Firion's Gate had aligned itself with the Tide, even if unofficially, he'd known that at some point the Tide would approach them with an offer to join. Which was why, in what was the most brilliant flash of foresight he'd ever had, he'd bribed city council members into getting a bill ready that would make Firion's Gate part of the Tide. He had it ready and willing to go at any time. Most of the legislature would sign it, and Cameron hoped to make himself a wealthy man in doing so.  
  
" I know what you're saying," Cameron said, and he smiled. " And I agree. I think the city legislature will join, too."  
  
Seamus nodded. " But, there is another concern that may make you wish to hurry."  
  
Cameron stopped dead in his tracks. " What?" he said, attempting cheerfulness and failing.  
  
Seamus, using his the-shit-has-hit-the-fan voice (as he called it), said " Voldemort is moving. And he's going to try and attack Firion's Gate. We'll divert them, in honor of our position as allies- but we might not do so in the future if Firion's Gate won't repay the favor."  
  
He stood up, and the look on Cameron's face was all he needed to know. He smiled to himself. He knew what he would tell Harry when he arrived back at the Jester's Keep. Cameron, who would live to see Firion's Gate become a huge city, walked towards the Town Hall and rung the meeting bell as soon as Seamus was out of earshot, calling in a special meeting of legislators.  
  
Firion's Gate, the third town of what was rapidly becoming Harry's empire, had just signed itself over.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
From the Office of the Recorder, Firion's Gate Bill No. 45580:  
  
" From this moment forward, the legislature of Firion's Gate, with the full accordance of it's citizens, declares itself independent from the European Ministry Of Magic, and now a part of the Black Tide. We recognize Harry Potter, the Jester King, as our leader now and forever."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Firion's Gate hadn't exactly been lied too, just not told the truth. Seamus and his men had already determined that Voldemort would not go through that route. Voldemort chose the south route for a simple reason. The others had been completely demolished by Seamus' sapper squads. Voldemort wasn't very worried. He'd thought Harry would smash the roads. He didn't know that Harry had destroyed them in anticipation of him; Voldemort had simply figured that Harry wouldn't want too many routes to his city open. So Voldemort sent his forces down the south road, one that had just recently been named Joker's Way, in honor of Harry.  
  
Unbeknownst to him, Seamus and Ginny had prepared something very special for him on this road.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
June 1. An hour after sunrise.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle, large and brutish forms, marched down the dirt path. Their feet hurt, but they knew better than to complain. Service in the name of the Dark Lord demanded nothing less than everything you had. Behind them, also hurting but also knowing not to complain, six thousand Death Eaters, two tribes of orcs (roughly a hundred), three tribes of trolls (roughly sixty- trolls didn't live in large groups), and several rare, magical, and very dangerous monsters stomped off down the path. Although the tired warriors didn't notice, the path was steadily getting narrower. A less tired, less harried group might have noticed, but Crabbe and Goyle had set a monstrous pace. Every soldier was tired. They'd been woken up after walking half the night, kicked out of tents and yelled at to start packing. They'd been rolling since an hour before dawn. Crabbe and Goyle thought they were doing a wonderful job. Had Voldemort been there, he would have ripped them to shreds and fed them to his pet basilisk. His army was too wearied to fight. Which worked in Seamus' favor.  
  
The path eventually narrowed to where only three could pass, shoulder to shoulder, at a time. The army began squeezing through. Some of the larger creatures had to go in one at a time. They pushed through, barely squeezing in.  
  
One creature, a gigantic beast called a Helene, attempted to squeeze in. This massive beast resembled a turtle without the shell, and sported multiple horns on it's wrinkled blue hide. It's face, which resembled nothing so much as a Tyranosaurus Rex, sported sharp teeth and beady black eyes. It's teeth gnashed and it's spiked tail swung as it attempted to squeeze in the pass. That was when a Splicer round, perfectly aimed, blew into it's small brain cavity and killed it. The monstrous creature, body sagging in death, slumped down and blocked the passage. Voldemort's dazed forces were split in half. And the killing started.  
  
Seamus' men had hidden on both sides of the narrow passage they'd made. This "chokepoint", as it was called, effectively halved what they'd have to fight. Two groups of three thousand Death Eaters faced off on each side with four thousand each of the Black Tide. As the stunned Death Eaters gazed at the massive blue wall that prevented them from reaching each other, bony hands shot out of the ground. Ginny and her necromancers had buried hundreds of skeletal hands in the ground, and now they brought them to life. Their clutching hands disrupted the frightened Death Eaters even more. As they fought to remove the clutching hands, Seamus and his men opened fire. Seamus himself killed Crabbe, alongside three other Death Eaters, when he fired his Bayonet. The white-hot pulse of the Eclipse bullets it fired vaporized most of Crabbe, and his smoking form hit the ground. Goyle, seeing Crabbe's dead body, made a run for it. He didn't get very far before an arrow struck him in the back of the head, dropping him instantly.  
  
In the thick of things, the Black Tide fired into the Death Eaters from all sides at all angles. A diagram of their positions would have looked like this:  
  
BDB  
  
BDB  
  
Chokepoint  
  
BDB  
  
BDB  
  
Essentially, the Death Eaters were caught in a crossfire of spells, arrows, and Goblin technology. One orc, unlucky enough to get targeted by a Marauder with a Hygar, was blown backwards into a troll. Though dazed, he was still alive- but not for long. The troll, with it's typical crude logic, got mad at the orc and caved his skull in. The troll was soon killed by a Necromancer, his blood sucked out of his body as the Necromancer chanted his life-stealing spell.  
  
One tribe of orcs was massacred by two Marauders with Splicers. The two Marauders, on opposite sides, scattered their fire in two opposing sweeps. The orcs fleeing before one Splicer attack were soon cut down as they ran into another.  
  
It wasn't long until the Death Eaters decided to retreat. However, they were stopped by a small group of Purgers Seamus had brought along. Twin walls of flame, on opposite sides of the field, erupted and blocked off the path. Many creatures, unable to stop their forward momentum, burned to death. Some were so scared they ran right through it. One particularly stubborn troll, it's entire body alight, made it past the wall of flame and walked thirty feet before Seamus mercifully killed it with a single shot. It's flaming, titanic corpse hit the ground with a boom.  
  
The remaining Death Eaters (now numbering three thousand in all- their numbers had been halved), charged into the woods after their assailants. There was no bravery in this- they simply wanted to get away, no matter what. Seamus, using his Bayonet's sword end to cut down a Necromancer, yelled an order to use swords- a melee battle was on their hands. He turned and saw a Death Eater swinging his mace. No time to dodge or strike-  
  
Ginny's bolt of negative energy rippled the air and struck the Death Eater's face. His face crumpled as his brain, skull, eyes, and tongue were all reduced to ashes. His body crumpled, the mace that could have brained Seamus dropping harmlessly to the forest floor. Seamus nodded his thanks to Ginny, who grinned and winked back before turning to her own fight. Seamus ran forward, casting his own personal spell. Time slowed down. He felt it's effects distorting everything, each blink lasting a minute.  
  
[ Blink,] he thought, his head giving out the random thoughts it always did in battle, [ that's what I'll call it.]  
  
As time slowed, he watched the mini-dramas about him unfold. A troll, bashing a Marauder to death, was tripped on the webbing of a Dusk Knight. As it fell, the Dusk Knight drove his spear into it's stomach, disemboweling it. It's organs fell out to the floor, and it howled it's death cry.  
  
A Death Eater, casting his magic, sent a shockwave at a group of Marauders. One was killed as his brain imploded, while others were blown off their feet. He was killed a minute later by a Purger, his body dancing in the flames as he burned.  
  
A Helene, much like the one in the chokepoint, gnashed and smashed into a group of Necromancers. The servants of Death went to meet their master, courtesy of teeth and legs, and the Helene turned to other targets. Seamus ran towards it, his speed carrying him to it in seconds. He leaped and slashed across the back of it's front legs. Hamstrung, it cried out. Before the cry was even more than out of it's throat, he'd cut it's back legs too. The Helene fell to the forest floor like some fleshy meteor, roaring it's pain. Seamus jumped on it, about to slit it's throat, when he saw that Ginny was about to get stabbed. A Death Eater, sneaking up behind Ginny as she slayed one of his comrades, readied his sword for a thrust. He ran forward, and before the Death Eater had even fully drawn his sword back, Seamus struck. The Death Eater's lungs were cut by Seamus' strike, and the Death Eater suffocated on his own blood. Turning off his Blink spell for a second, Seamus turned to Ginny. He smiled.  
  
" There's the favor I owe you," he said, then turned around to fight. Ginny, smiling, turned back as well, and they stood there, fighting back to back. It was here that Ginny was named " The Black Lady". Although she and Seamus were merely friends, they were seen together so often that someone eventually coined the name. It gained great acceptance after the battle where they were seen together.  
  
The remaining members of the Death Eaters, surrounded, surprised, and disoriented, eventually began fleeing back to Voldemort. A scant few survived. Of the original six thousand, barely a hundred Death Eaters lived, and none of the monsters made it back to Voldemort. The Black Tide had won, but the cost was high; they had lost five hundred men that day, mostly in the charge. But, even so, Firion's Gate had joined. And with another city, the Black Tide could replace it's losses.  
  
The battle became known as the " Forest of Spears". 


	18. Forever and Anon

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thoughts  
  
Hey people. Since Christmas is coming up, I won't add anything *too* evil. As for the reviewers- thank you all, and have a wonderful Christmas. God bless you!  
  
- Silverlocke980  
  
And now, Ladies and Gentlemen,   
  
in what may be the last chapter  
  
this year of 2003....  
  
  
  
" SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 14  
  
Forever and Anon  
  
Oceania, Jester's Keep. June 3rd. 9:00 a.m.  
  
Harry paced his current work-in-progress, the Jester's Keep. It was a dreary, rainy day, and the constant patter roared in his ears. He wondered briefly if Neville could control rain, being the Master of Water, then turned his mind back to his castle. Ah, yes. It was looking beautiful. No workers were here today, due to the horrid weather, but Harry didn't mind. They deserved a break. After seeing how Voldemort treated his troops, Harry had taken pains to be nice to his men. He was not a weakling towards them, but neither was he extremely harsh. His men were growing quite fond of his attitude. Which was what he'd planned. If soldiers liked you, they were more apt to work for you.  
  
Harry did not want an overly tall castle. Once a castle was tall enough, it took less and less to knock it down. The more weight on top, the less force is needed to weaken the base and make the entire thing collapse. Harry planned on four, maybe five floors, and a tower or two. The first floor, complete now, was built as Harry had designed, but the second floor was being built to very different specifications. After the raid on Gringotts, they'd found a vault belonging to an architect. The architect had made plans for a grand defensive structure and placed it in Gringott's supposedly secure vaults. Harry was quite grateful to him. The second floor was where much of the defensive equipment would be both placed and built, and someone else had done his designing for him.  
  
The first floor of his castle had a simple layout and resembled old Viking castles. When one walked in the front door, one entered a "lobby" of sorts. Two the east and west stairs ran up, while directly ahead lay the Grand Hall, where Harry held his banquets and celebrations. Easily the largest room currently in the castle, it stretched up two floors. His servants were even now finishing up the top bannisters of the Grand Hall. His throne sat at the far north end of the Hall, on a raised section approachable by stairs. A second throne, smaller and less ornate than his own, was being built for Cho Chang. It would be set next to his, and a little in front- so he could watch her and make sure she wasn't trying anything. It paid to be paranoid, especially in his case. People really were out to get him.  
  
The Grand Hall had four doors set in it's sides, two on the eastern side and two on the western side. On the east half, the first door from the doorway to the south was the armory. Weapons and armor created by Cho Chang and her Enchanters was stockpiled here, subdivided into groups like swords, shields, helmets, etc. It was here that new recruits came to pick up their equipment. It would be moved to the second floor as soon as the new Armory room upstairs was finished.  
  
The second eastern door led to the stables... if one could call it that. This room, about half as large as the Grand Hall, was a dark place where the giant spiders the Dusk Knights rode were kept and fed. Each had it's own private cell, a dark place where it could spin it's webs and sleep peacefully, or drink from a little bowl (inset into the wall) that magically refilled itself when empty. Live animals, usually rabbits or groundhogs from the Forest, were thrown in for meals. It was great entertainment for the spiders to catch the squealing animals. It was even more fun for the keepers to watch.  
  
On the western side of the room, opposite the Armory, was the Elemental Orb's room. Only Fire and Air still lay inside, Water being bound to Neville's forehead and Earth keeping Padma company on her wrist. Fire glowed cheerily, like a campfire that's just been restocked, and it had a ornate pillar decorated with rubies. Set on a raised platform by itself, it was almost always surrounded by Fire Elementalists. It had not chosen any King (and didn't plan to), out of respect for Earth already having done so. However, it had no compunction to teaching it's Elementalists, and handled almost all the new Fire Elementalist training in Oceania. Harry had traded a few words with the Orb, and rather liked it. Fire whole-heartedly supported the Tide (incongruous as that statement seemed), and was allowed to have a few trinkets (hence the ruby-coated pillar).  
  
Air, on the other hand, sat mostly by itself on the other side of the room on a plain white pillar. Harry had attempted to coax Air into joining them, but it had steadfastly refused. Being a creation of Wizards, it could not deny it's Elementalists (which was why Water Elementalists could still do magic, even though Water was silenced by Neville's ring), but it could have lended it's ancient history and lore to the Tide. By refusing, it had doomed itself to a long life of silence. No Elementalists gathered about it, and it glowed a unnoticeable, dull white color, as if trying to hide itself.  
  
The last room on the first floor, reached by entering the second western door, was the kitchen. Although "kitchen" is a rather small term for it; it was a grand place, fit for a king. Huge and magically powered freezers, great ovens, formulas perfectly mixed with magic- it was a gourmet chef's delight. Emeril would be delighted to have something like this.  
  
The second floor was being built at the moment. Harry walked into the Grand Hall, walked to his throne, and touched the armrest tenderly. He stood there, looking at it, and wondering. How did it start? Where did it start? He was human now, so his face was visible. On it, a mask of thoughtful contemplation could be seen. The thunderbolt-shaped scar was lengthened by his lowered eyes, as if trying to stretch forth and strike his nose. After a moment, Harry smiled, a normal human smile. Then he began laughing. He turned and sat in his chair, enjoying it's comfort and feel. He intended to enjoy it forever and anon...  
  
And no one could stop him.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Voldemort's Fortress, England. Same day, same time.  
  
England is known for two things; a long and elaborate history, and a great deal of rain. As some wise man or another mused once, " The reason England has so many poets is that there are so many words that rhyme with rain." Whether he was right or not, there was one person in England who was hearing a poem in his head- and not a pleasant one either. He would have felt even worse if he had known that Harry was thinking eerily similar thoughts.  
  
[ Forever and anon, we dance the endless waltz of centuries,] Voldemort thought, sitting in his study with his face a study of worry, fingers rubbing his temples as he attempted to drive the thrice-damned poem from his mind. [ All is laughter as we fall to the endless sound of rain...]  
  
Voldemort sighed. Unable to rid the poem from his mind entirely, he forcibly moved it to the back of his head. It stayed there, running constantly, an endless litany that was nonsense but, in a part of him buried so deep he was hardly aware of it, it made sense. He did not know why... but it was right, somehow.  
  
He leaned back, eyes closed, into his chair. Two entire companies. Lost. And the few survivors had reported that, as far as they knew, the Black Tide had suffered only minimal losses. Yesterday, he'd read that Firion's Gate, a small town west of Oceania, had joined up with Harry. Damn it. Three towns already. What few forces Harry had lost would soon be replaced by new recruits.  
  
He still had four companies, which gave him about twelve thousand or so Wizard troops, plus about five hundred monsters. Before, he thought he'd be able to defeat Harry with only a small force. Now he wondered if all of his forces would be enough.  
  
He sat there, the man once called the Dark Lord, and through his mind, for some reason scaring him worse than anything ever had before in his long and twisted life, he kept hearing a poem...  
  
[ Forever and anon, we dance the endless waltz of centuries... All is laughter as we fall to the endless sound of rain...]  
  
Voldemort sat in his chair and shivered.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Durmstrang, undisclosed location in Iceland. Same day, same time.  
  
Hermione looked outside. New troops were busy filing in. Durmstrang had shut down all of it's scholastic courses and was now fully-focused on military purposes. Hermione and Ron had been made the official heads of the White Shore. They had no official title- the charter merely stated the White Shore would follow their lead- but both had been given nicknames by the troops.   
  
" Old Grim" was what the soldiers called Ron, and it fit. He did look old and grim. Lines, premature on his young face, encircled his mouth, which was set in a almost permanent thin line. His sword, glowing with enchantment, was a constant presence at his side. He was old for his age... very old.  
  
Hermione, for her part, wasn't looking too young either. She'd been shocked this morning when she'd gazed in the mirror- was this the face of a young girl? Her face had lines on it- not wrinkles, not yet, but the start of them. Her eyes were sadder, deeper somehow, as if the well of all the pain she'd suffered had become visible in them. She had a long streak of white hair amidst her normal brown, the result of a Necromancer spell that had hit her in the battle for Beauxbatons. She looked old. She'd cried when she'd seen it, and Ron (laying next to her, on the other side of the four-post bed) had woken up and held her, asking her what was wrong. She'd cried in his arms, as he rocked her back and forth. The troops had taken to calling her the " Snow Lady", partly for her hair... but also because she just *seemed* like a lady. Part of it was the way she carried herself, the great and somehow sad dignity in her face, and part of it was the way she talked... but it was mostly just because she was a lady. It couldn't be explained better than that.  
  
She was standing outside her and Ron's room, looking down at the blizzard covered grounds of Durmstrang. White Shore soldiers were loading up on boats, getting ready. They were making a second move soon, in conjuction with Ministry forces.  
  
An errant breeze, cold like death, struck her and made her shiver in her lace nightgown. And then, for no reason whatsoever, something came into her mind  
  
[ Forever and anon, we dance the endless waltz of centuries]  
  
and she cocked her head, thinking. [ What was that?] she thought, blinking as she stood there in the cold and snow in her white gown. [ Something I read? Something  
  
*true*  
  
I heard?]  
  
And then, unbidden, a second line occured to her. And in it, she thought she saw something past the simple words and phrases, a deeper meaning to it... but maybe it was just the cold and the early time and her own nerves.  
  
[ All is laughter as we fall to the endless sound of rain...]  
  
She shivered. And it was not from the cold.  
  
- Merry Christmas! And to DestinedKnight23- I read your fic. Booyah! 


	19. Menace of the Deep part 1

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hey everyone. I know that this update is a little late, but Christmas and school have both rather delayed me. That has, thankfully, been fixed by snow, so I'm writing to you now!  
  
Oh, and one fan (forgot your name; very sorry!) wrote something like this:  
  
"Your (female, sorry) fan."  
  
That is nothing to be sorry about. I like females. In fact, I like them so much I'm dating one right now. I have nothing against women, and my rant was not directed at you, but rather, my own sex. A fan of mine is a fan of mine, regardless of sex. I personally find most physical definitions (race, sex, height, etc.) childish and boring. So don't worry about it.  
  
Glad that's cleared up. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 15  
  
Part 1  
  
Menace of the Deep  
  
June 29th. Somewhere in France, west of Lunas.  
  
The Ministry officials surveyed their hastily-called army. Consisting mostly of European wizards, they were arrayed in the ornate (some said foppish) attire of Ministry soldiers. They wore tight fitting chain mail outfits, and over that wore intricately designed plates of armor over vital areas. The style had been invented well over four centuries ago, and because of the general lack of wizard wars, had never been upgraded. Two shoulder plates, a torso plate, gauntlets, a groin cup, and iron boots, all inset with glowing runes of protection, were placed on top of the chain mail. Each carried a spear in their hands, with a broadsword for close-in work slung over their backs. Their helmets were open-faced, conic in style, and swept backwards, much like the crowns of the ancient Egyptian pharoahs. On each was the Ministry insignia.  
  
These were the rank and file soldiers. To their right, and wearing normal plate armor (much like the standard issue of the Black Tide), the captains sat astride their warhorses. Each carried a heavy lance and a longsword. Their helmets were square, with visors. Some were up, and the faces within were a hodge-podge mixture: Some looked almost hungry for the upcoming battle, while others showed their trepidation and fear.  
  
There were eight thousand regular Ministry forces, but the White Shore (which had received a huge influx of new members) had donated two thousand to help. Wearing the white armor and standing apart from the normal Ministry forces, they were dazzling in the sunlight.  
  
The troops were before a Wizengamot embassy house in France. Susannah Bones and two of the Ministry's generals stood beside her on a balcony on the third floor of the mansion. The army lay before her. In the distance, the Beastkeepers could be heard shouting at their charges, and the responding snarls and growls. Something was making the monsters they commanded act up, and they could not be present for inspection by the Minister.  
  
Susannah Bones looked over her force. It was ten thousand strong. She hoped it was enough to take back Beauxbatons (she refused to think of it as Lunas). And yet, the cold corpse-tendrils of fear that had entered her soul when Ron and Hermione had first entered the Wizengamot (and had never left her since), laughed at this. It wasn't enough, it whispered. Nowhere near enough.  
  
Against what you face, nothing is.  
  
She ignored the voice and watched the troops, under orders from the shouting generals standing beside her, file off. They sung war songs as they marched, uplifting and sometimes bitterly comic, but always in tune with their steps.  
  
And suddenly heard something  
  
( Forever and anon we waltz the endless dance of centuries... everything is laughter as we fall to the endless sound of rain)  
  
that made her scream out loud. The singing of ten thousand warriors drowned her out.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Lunas. Two hours later. 1:00 p.m.  
  
Fleur smiled at the ambassador from Harry's newest city, the largest so far. When Firion's Gate had joined, many cities expected the Ministry to retaliate. But when the Ministry did nothing, several cities that had expressed (if quietly) pro-Tide opinions switched sides. Not counting Oceania and Lunas, there were four Wizarding communities in the Tide: Firion's Gate (pop. 2500), King's Valley (pop. 3400), Hopetree (pop. 2100), and the newest addition (whose representative was standing across from Fleur now): Halley's Gambit, with a population of 5000. The new additions were extremely pleasing to all involved. The road to Firion's Gate that Harry had demolished before the battle with Voldemort was repaired, and with the sudden influx of trade into Oceania from the new towns, Firion's Gate's population had jumped, going from a thousand to twenty-five hundred in a few weeks. Cameron had started becoming a frequent sight around Oceania, personally delivering several trade loads. Oceania sat between the two English towns of the Black Tide, with Firion's Gate on one side and King's Valley on the other.  
  
Lunas, meanwhile, sat in the middle of a North-South line between Halley's Gambit and Hopetree. Fleur hoped Lunas would grow as the two traded with each other. Fleur was the official head over all mainland Europe, with Harry busy in England.  
  
The ambassador, after a few more pleasantries were exchanged, bowed and left. Behind him, Spithe walked in. His face was grave.  
  
" My Ladyship Fleur Delacour, emissary of the Jester King," Spithe said, snapping a Black Tide salute (right fist, palm inward, tapping chest) and holding it, " we have a problem."  
  
Fleur looked at him. In all the time he'd been in Lunas with her, he'd never used her full official title before. She cocked her head quizzically and said," Stand down. What is it, Secondary General Spithe?"   
  
He ended his salute and said, " We've discovered Ministry forces. They're coming from the west, and strength is guessed at ten thousand." His face, looking stoic up until now, turned frantic as emotion took him over. " They'll be here tomorrow night!"  
  
Fleur's eyes widened in shock. " Tomorrow night! Oh God, what are we going to do?"  
  
" We," said a deep voice from the hall, "are going to slaughter them."  
  
Neville entered, flexing his right fist. His knuckles popped loudly, and he turned to face Spithe and Fleur.  
  
" What are you talking about?" Spithe looked at him. " Even if we call for help, Hopetree and Halley's Gambit won't be able to get here soon enough. We need more time!"  
  
" The Ministry won't arrive for some time yet," Neville said, smiling a grin that reminded Fleur of a crocodile. " They have to cross a lake to get here..."  
  
He chuckled. " And I've arranged for a little surprise."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Lake Gato, east of Beauxbatons, same time.  
  
Lake Gato was a French lake with a Spanish name. It had reached this odd conjuction by a strange twist of fate. A Spanish man named Pizarro (after the famous explorer) had been on a journey through France when he found this lake. He was a Wizard, and his cat familiar had been traveling with him. When they found the lake and stopped for a bit, his cat almost drowned, and when he finally pulled it out the cat's indignation had been so great (and his wet fur so odd looking) that Pizarro had nearly choked laughing. The still-chuckling Pizarro had henceforth named it Lake Gato(literally, Cat's Lake) after his familiar's little mishap.  
  
After what happened that night, it was known as the Lake of the Damned.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Ministry Encampment, shores of Lake Gato, around 11:00 p.m. that day.  
  
The general chosen for the expedition was a young, hotheaded man named Alucard who had been regarded by the top brass as "aggressive." It was for that reason he had been suddenly promoted to General. If he had seen Harry on the street, he would have shaken his hand. He had been waiting for this chance all his life.  
  
Gen. Alucard was sitting in his tent, thinking up what he regarded as brilliant new strategies (they weren't half bad, as it went), when he suddenly felt the urge to go outside. He didn't know why. He just felt like some fresh air. He put his inkpen down and walked out.  
  
Outside, he was greeted by a blast of hot air. The low campfires of his men blazed all around, girdling the enormous lake to his left. He saw his men sitting near low campfires, talking and laughing. Most had taken their bulky armor off and laid it next to them. It was too fine a night to wear something so damn hot. They sat at the far edges of their fires' light, trying to avoid the heat. The night was damn hot, hotter than it should have been, really. He began to think about this, and to his credit, his mind leaped immediately to magic and the Tide- but then he heard it.  
  
Singing. Singing so beautiful that all he wanted was to drown in it....  
  
He began to walk towards the water.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Ministry Encampment, shores of Lake Gato. Same time.  
  
The Beastkeeper's encampment was the first to notice that something was wrong. Viewed as being apart from the main army, they were set off in their own special section on the north side of the lake. There, the Beastkeepers, strange Wizards with the power to control monsters, watched their charges. The animals were restless, as if feeling something odd in the air. The Beastkeepers, who were so attuned to animals that they had picked up some of their traits, felt it too. They stood guard, not a man in the encampment asleep. They watched with nervous eyes, hands on maces, swords, whips. Something was wrong tonight.  
  
Very wrong.  
  
In the White Shore encampment on the far eastern side of the lake, across from where Gen. Alucard was wading knee-deep into the water, a few of the more sensitive soldiers looked about warily, but without the keen senses of the Beastkeepers, they were mostly blind to the world that night.  
  
The south and west sides of the lake were filled with standard Ministry troops. None of them, green soldiers as they were, noticed anything odd.  
  
That was about to change.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Lake Gato, west shore. Same time.  
  
Gen. Alucard walked into the water. He heard that singing, and he so wanted to meet the singer. She sounded so beautiful, so grand. He wanted to meet her, and sit at her feet, just listening to that song...  
  
A few soldiers saw him wade out, but not seeing (or not noticing) the look of empty concentration on his face, they merely assumed he was going to go for a swim to cool off. The night was pretty hot, after all. They saw a few others go in after him, and some noticed them as high-ranking officers. Some joked that Gen. Alucard was drunk off his ass and his staff was going to go save him before he drowned himself. The soldiers laughed and forgot about their commanders for the time.  
  
As he walked out (the water was now waist-deep on him), the soldiers behind him, the singing stopped. He stopped, too, listening with pathetic eagerness. Where was it? Oh God, had he lost it? That beautiful voice...  
  
Two enormously strong tentacles shot out of the water and dragged him in.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The officers behind Gen. Alucard (all of whom had heard that singing, too) barely had time to widen their eyes in amazement before tentacles grabbed them too. Soon, every one of them was underwater, held by the powerful bands of muscle wrapped about their bodies. They stopped struggling soon enough. Gen. Alucard, who actually had a mind of fine tactical brilliance and who would have given Seamus a run for his money, floated face down under the water, mouth held wide in one last attempt to breathe air. A woman's face, young and beautiful, came out of the murky darkness surrounding his floating body. Following it was a woman's torso, but instead of arms two tentacles emerged from it's shoulders. Below the waist, it was a morass of tentacles. The dire song smiled, and four rows of teeth, two on the top and two more on the bottom, gleamed in the dark. They would have not looked out of place in a shark's mouth.  
  
Bringing one arm-tentacle up, the dire song wrapped it about Gen. Alucard's body and began to chant underwater, the words strangely clear underneath the water. Soon Gen. Alucard's body twitched, and the bodies of his fellows began to move as well. Caught in the web of the dire song's necromancy, they stood upright and turned around, walking back to a camp once full of allies, and now full of enemies. The dire song swam back into the deeper water, her part done. For she had just turned the entire commanding staff into zombies. The army was going to be in total disarray, and the battle hadn't even started yet.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
On the east shore, the first hint of trouble was the sound of yells and screams from the opposite shore. Sound carried well across the lake, and the White Shore woke for battle when the noise across them reached their ears. They ran for armor, for swords, for weaponry. They had their backs turned to the shore, their minds on their gear. Which was why they didn't notice the leaping, jawed things at their backs, nor the great crocodiles emerging from the waters, until they began to get killed by them.  
  
Strange, two-legged creatures called Corpse Hungers began hopping out of the water as soon as the White Shore turned it's back. Strange creatures, they had two webbed feet for hopping, a short tail like a tadpoles for swimming, two eyes on the top of their head (like a frog) for seeing prey above the shallow waters they lived in, a short and stumpy body that faintly resembled a frog in both color and shape, and a great big set of jaws that were wrongly proportioned for their small body. And that was just about it. They had little brains to speak of, and would eat anything, even each other. They were called Corpse Hungers because of their fondness for eating the corpses of beached whales. They would hop up onto the beach, take huge chunks out of the whale's carcass, and hop back to the waves. They lived in both saltwater and freshwater, with no real changes between the two. They usually reached about two foot in height.  
  
Neville had performed a reconnaissance mission around Lunas when he'd first arrived. He'd been looking for large bodies of water, and when he checked out Lake Gato, he had spotted a colony of Corpse Hungers here. Just to play with his powers, he had begun to make them larger and stronger. He kept them from eating each other, and bred the biggest and toughest of them.  
  
At the same time, he had found crocodiles here, not the usual kind Muggles knew of, but great crocodiles (as the Ministry termed them), beasts more closely related to sea serpents than any Muggle crocodiles. They easily reached twenty foot in length. He thought they were interesting, and he had messed with Lake Gato's internal infrastructure. He had made it one of the most dangerous places in France, in regard to water creatures.  
  
When he'd heard the Ministry was coming, he'd noticed that Lake Gato was on their way. And he had been delighted.  
  
After all, every scientist wants to try out his latest experiment.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
The same rushing horde of Corpse Hungers, great crocodiles, and other monsters hit the other shores at the same time. Neville, miles away, had used his incredible powers over Water to link with his "pets" (as he thought of them). He held them back with sheer force of will, and when the time was right he unleashed them. The result was a nightmarish assault.  
  
On the south shore, one unlucky Ministry member was killed by a Corpse Hunger as the attack started. The monster had hopped into the firelight, and the soldier (not recognizing it for what it was), had poked it with the butt of his spear as a joke. It had opened it's jaws and bitten off the end of his spear. Before the amazed man could react, it had leapt forward and bitten his face off with a sideways bite.  
  
Another soldier, noticing the beasts for what they were, had shouted an alarm and swung his sword at one. It had leapt forward, underneath his blow, and bitten his leg. He hacked at it, as it mindlessly gnawed his unarmored leg, until a second had bitten his arm. Trying to shake it off, he screamed as a third one leapt on him and bit his throat out. He went down, the monsters on him never stopping as they bit, bit, bit.  
  
Those men in the front of the camp were slaughtered. Those farther back, being granted time by the deaths of their comrades, were able to get somewhat prepared before the leaping monstrosities caught up to them. They formed a spearhead, shields and spears out, and began fighting back the horde. Faced against a wall of armor and points, the Hungers were pushed back.  
  
The crocodiles caught up at this point, and the soldier's valiant attempts to survive were wrecked. The enchanted spears did little more than irritate the great beasts, and their shields of magicked metal were unable to stop their gnashing jaws. One soldier, part of the vanguard, was bitten in half when one crocodile went raging through his group. He died under it's rending teeth, and the last sensation he ever had was a Corpse Hunger beginning to devour his arm.  
  
The crocodiles having broken the line open, Corpse Hunger poured in. The soldiers retreated as fast as they could, some throwing aside their weapons in their haste to escape the terrible gnawing horde. As they headed farther into the camp, they ran into their fellows. These men, having the most time to prepare, were ready and waiting for the monsters. Flames, magics, and arrows rained out over the night sky as the soldiers gave back everything the monsters had given them. One crocodile died as a particularly powerful Wizard sent a lightning bolt at it. Striking it in the eyes (the weakest point on any magical reptile), it's small brain was instantly fired. It fell over, tongue lolling out, and crushed a Corpse Hunger as it fell. A second Corpse Hunger paused at the enormous corpse and took a bite out of the meaty tongue before it was struck with an arrow in the side. It fell over, screaming harshly. Two of it's fellows hopped up and began eating it's still kicking legs.  
  
The southern army pushed them back, fighting hard. Soon, as the men warmed to battle, green soldiers were reborn as scarred fighters as the battle turned. Neville, sensing loss here and having done his job, retreated what was left of his horde into the lake. The last Corpse Hunger on the beach, a slow one who hadn't quite made it out, was killed by the swift spear-work of a Ministry soldier. Turning to survey their camp, the triumpant soldiers looked in awe. The camp was in ruins. Tents hung in tatters. Only those in the very back were untouched. Of the ten thousand soldiers in the Ministry army, four thousand had been camped here. Now only three thousand remained. They'd lost over a thousand men.  
  
Hearing the screams and struggles from the western camp, the men looked at each other, nodded grimly, and charged off. Far away, Neville smiled. This was even more entertaining then he'd thought.  
  
- There you go. Find any references to a popular anime if you can (hint: think vampires). Answer revealed next chapter! 


	20. Menace of the Deep, part 2

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hey everyone. I've got some review stuff to do, but first I want to respond to that SOB Zoinky McZoinklers. Read his/her review of my fanfic, an exceptionally bad and poorly written flame, and you'll understand the next few paragraphs. The rant stops at the ***.  
  
  
  
TO: ZOINKY MCZOINKLERS  
  
Okay. Zoinky McZoinklers. Besides the fact that you have a stupid name, you've managed to piss me off. Way to go, genius. I have no problem with people not liking my fanfics. It's a free country. What I DON'T like is people flaming my work. I'm going to use the next few paragraphs to pick you apart, boy.  
  
You say my story is predictable. You've only read to chapter 7, judging by your review, so you haven't read the whole thing. That's one point off the critic scale already. Also, it's a DARK HARRY FANFIC. Is that so hard to understand? The whole point of a DARK HARRY FANFIC is a evil, almost omnipotent Harry Potter. If you don't like reading works like that, then you have no reason to be reviewing them. Only those who like a certain type of work should review it, seeing as how they have far more experience and no bias against it.  
  
You talk about Voldemort not being described as using "Elemental" magic in the books, and make fun of the swords/assorted weapons in my story. Once more, you prove your basic stupidity to the world. It's a FANFIC. I'll say it once again, just so you get it. FANFIC. That means I can write *ANYTHING I WANT*. Your opinion doesn't matter one damn whit.  
  
If you don't like my fanfic so much, why don't YOU write one? You don't even have a real pen name. You're just one of the faceless bastards who like to write flames. Have some guts, you honorless coward. Go to Register, get a pen name, and face me like a man. I have a pen name, not just to write fanfics, but because I wanted a persona that could be mine and mine alone. I can and will stand by my words, and eat them if I must. You won't. Hmph. Childish.  
  
As for your spelling and grammar, while you were trying to ridicule me (it didn't work), they are horrendous. Grow up and use better writing techniques. In fact, just grow up, period. The world has enough stupid people in it without you as well.  
  
***  
  
For those who read the above rant and are now afraid to criticize me, don't be. I don't mind constructive criticism. Look at Trevor the Enchanter. He tells me what I do wrong, suggests help, and is honest about my faults- but he's not stupid about it. He's quite polite. I respect that. Also, he has an actual pen name, unlike the aforementioned Zoinky McZoinklers. Oh, and to Trevor the Enchanter- I *WILL* use your stuff, I just have not had time in the storyline yet. Keep sending ideas. And use them yourself. I think you could make some fine fanfics yourself.  
  
Okay, now that all that is out of my system, here's the answer to my question. The reference is Gen. Alucard, to the anime Hellsing. Alucard, in Hellsing, is a nigh omnipotent vampire who has a big red hat, an odd sense of humor, and serious firepower in his blessed silver Jackal bullets. He's a great character (although not as good as Alexander Andrews, in my humble opinion), so I thought I'd make a little ode to Hellsing by naming the general after him. Here's the list of who got it right:  
  
Rhia Kaosu- sent me an e-mail. And yeah, you got it. Kudos. (gives a thumbs up to you with right hand)  
  
SpacyRicochet- yeah, I probably could have made it more subtle... but I didn't know how popular Hellsing was. And hey, more power to you, brother. If you ever feel too overrun, just remember- this is the Internet and you could always pretend to be a woman.  
  
RowlingFan1- ooh- close, but no cigar. It isn't Vampire Hunter D, although those are very cool movies. Anime rules.  
  
Enough of that. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 16  
  
Menace of the Deep  
  
Part 2  
  
Lunas, Neville's room in former Beauxbatons Castle, 11:30 p.m.  
  
Neville floated above the water of his room, the swirling water below him casting off a strange, sapphire glow over the room. It was a fairly large room, with the center taken up by the great pool there. It's waters were set in a roughly rectangular shape, with only two foot of stone on either of the shorter sides to allow passage to the far side of the room. On the far side, various magical ingredients, potions, and oddities related to Water were gathered on a massive wooden shelf that covered the back wall. A glance revealed strange things, in that maddening, watery glow; a massive crocodile skull, a tentacle from a Kraken (well over fifty foot in length) coiled up like a rope, and (strangest of all), the face of a beautiful mermaid, frozen in a glass sphere for all time. The rest of the room was almost entirely bare, except for a desk next to the shelf upon which rested Neville's pen and writing pads. The pen was enchanted so that he could just send his thoughts to it and let it do the writing for him. He could lounge in his pool and finish paperwork at the same time. Useful.  
  
At the moment, though, all his thought was bent on Lake Gato, far to the west of Lunas. Neville was in the classic position of the Indian mediums, his legs tucked in and his arms bent at the elbows, pointer and thumb touching. His eyes were closed, and the Crystal of Water pulsed slowly in his forehead. He floated above the water, his body nude save for his long, trailing cloak. It was not the body of a young teenager. His body was smoothly muscled, the muscles of a martial artist and not the blocky muscles of a bodybuilder. Like water, his skin seemed to ripple with the strength of the muscles underneath. His entire body rolled with power. In the light from the swirling yet silent whirlpool beneath him (the only light in the room) he looked like some strange, aberrant figure of serenity, a nightmare Buddha.  
  
There, in that madness, he smiled. His grin was the same as those crocodiles who hunt the Nile river bank, full of teeth and a mad happiness at the prospect of blood and meat. Of killing and rending, gnashing jaws.  
  
The southern wing of the army had just finished it's battle. The north part, the Beastkeepers, had easily repulsed the attack on them. It was the lightest of the four. When Neville saw that he was not going to be able to kill them with a surprise attack, he'd diverted most of the Hungers and all the great crocodiles. They were all going east, to a meeting with the White Shore. And on the western shore...  
  
Once more, he smiled.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Lake Gato, same time. Eastern shore.  
  
In every war, there are heroes. The same is true of this war. On that day, June 29th (now thirtieth), Kaleb Isaacs woke to battle not knowing what role he would play in the coming battle. He woke blurrily, his sleepy eyes and ears not registering what was happening until he saw a soldier go down, overtaken by Corpse Hungers. The noises of the feeding monsters- and the screams of the soldier- were enough to fully alert Kaleb's mind to what was happening. And with that, he grabbed his longsword and ran out to battle.  
  
His first thoughts were lost as he gazed around him. The Corpse Hungers were overrunning the front of the camp. Fires erupted as braziers and torches were knocked onto tents, fabrics, supplies. The flames danced and leaped on the tents, as if enjoying the carnage and laughing at human misfortune. Screams rang out everywhere.  
  
His second thought was how hot it was. Unbeknownst to him, Neville's magic was heating the area around Lake Gato up. His crocodiles were generally slow and lethargic, but he'd found that heat vastly improved their performances. Unfortunately for the White Tide, his crocodiles were performing very well. As Kaleb watched, one stomped on a running soldier, causing his body to crumple like a soda can. Blood and gore spewed out of his mouth and eyes as his body's fluids sprayed out. Kaleb watched in horror. And then it was upon him.  
  
Neville had only six crocodiles in Lake Gato. He had sent three to the south, one to the west, and two to the east (he hadn't pit any north, when he found out about the Beastkeeper's awareness of his plan). He didn't want to lose any if he could avoid it. He'd pulled them out of the south before he'd lost more than one there, and he didn't think the east would give him much trouble.  
  
His hopes were dashed by one brave warrior.  
  
Kaleb Isaacs, seventeen years old, faced off against a great crocodile. And inside him, inside the fear, he found something.  
  
He found the heart and soul of a knight.  
  
He ran forward, not without fear but ignoring it inside him, hearing the true essence and call of courage, and looking upon the monster before him not as a nightmare but as a foe that could be slain. He ran towards it, straight forward. The crocodile, thinking it's prey was rather stupid, opened it's mouth and rushed forward.  
  
Kaleb leaped, straight into the monster's open mouth. And as he leaped, he sent his blade whistling through the air over his head. It struck the jaw dead center, and the force of his will and magic sheared the monster's flesh. Scales that would have resisted stronger magic with lesser will behind it fell before the strength of Kaleb's soul.  
  
And the blade, traveling through the skin, sliced into the skull and sliced the brain apart, severing all the internal connections permanently. Kaleb, his blow struck, leaped out of the beast's mouth.  
  
This all happened in less than ten seconds.  
  
The crocodile stayed standing a moment longer, the upper part of it's face lopsided and sloping, curiously unbleeding. Then, in an explosion of blood and gore, it fell and died. Far away, Neville's smile changed to a snarl. Bastard child. He mentally commanded the other crocodile to attack Kaleb, and set the Hungers upon him. He would show the boy what denying him meant.  
  
Kaleb, his face strangely calm, saw the Hungers stop chasing their targets and run towards him. Still feeling the courage and honor of the knight, he raised his sword. He thought he would die. He accepted this and decided to die with honor. There were many worse things. He stared the monsters down as they rushed him, his face still calm as death came like an onrushing wave towards him.  
  
The lightning that came out of nowhere stopped that wave.  
  
He looked up, surprised. And above him, a sight he never forgot. A beautiful bird, gray in color, a great hawk that swirled over the battlefield. Thunderclouds swirled about it, and in it's eyes he saw the hint of a promised rainbow. It opened it's mouth, and instead of a raptor's cry, thunder crackled. Lightning rained down as the Thunderbird struck again and again.  
  
The Beastkeepers had come to aid their allies. Kaleb raised his sword and yelled to his comrades, all staring at the great bird before them and listening to the muted rushing of many feet, as a stampede came from the north.  
  
" Forth! Forth to war!" he cried, his voice ringing over the battlefield. And behind him, with the muted roar of hundreds, they came, pushing back the monsters. A great noise of steel on flesh, of screams and roars, of thunder and fire, began on the beach.  
  
It was not much later that it stopped as a sphere of blue electricity suddenly covered western side of the lake. The crackling, rippling force seemed to hang in the air and pulse, and then it contracted into itself almost ferociously. And then a huge, almost soundless explosion demolished the western side of the lake.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Western shore, Lake Gato, five minutes before.  
  
The one crocodile on this side retreated. It was in the water and safely out of the way. Some of the Hungers came back to, although some had to stay. They had to protect the shambling body of Gen. Alucard.  
  
Alucard walked forth, his dead face slack. As with all necromancy, there was no soul in the corpse, just the will of it's master. And his will was simple.  
  
Get to the middle of the camp and use the glowing, blue thing in his hand.  
  
Alucard shambled forth, protected by the honor guard of Hungers that surrounded him. The other zombies were wrecking havoc elsewhere. Hungers ran here and there, some not even fighting, just causing havoc. One bit the wheels of a cart and made it tip over, spilling it's load of food into the main "road" between the tents. All a distraction.  
  
Just a distraction.  
  
As Alucard walked forward, no one saw the Shatterstar in his hand. He stumbled through a world of chaos, seeking it's center.  
  
He finally shambled into it. Here. His master's voice. His will. He raised his hand. In it, the Shatterstar pulsed it's serene blue light. A spark of order in chaos. A spark of order that would destroy it all.  
  
And Alucard turned the spark to a flame.  
  
" SHATTER!" his undead throat echoed, oddly toneless.  
  
Madame Maxine's Shatterstar went oddly dark, only a hint of azure in it's deepest core. Then that seemed to rush out, to travel through endless eons of space and time to burst out of the glass with a shockwave that sent waves of force through his dead form. His command had been simple, direct, and without conditions. His command, henceforth, included himself. The sparkling blue net of electricity burned his undead form, seared him, yet he held on. The net burned everything in it's way, rending man and monster, tent and wagon. It extended a mile above them, and covered all the western half of the shore. It's sphere of power even entered the ground, searing through rock and stone and ancient fossils of long dead animals. There it stayed, pulsing for a second. And then, gathering itself together once more, it contracted hard. As Kaleb, on the eastern shore, shaded his eyes from the sudden brightness, the net formed once more into the Shatterstar. The sphere contracted.  
  
The world exploded, a blast so strong that it seemed almost soundless. Every creature on the western half, every living human, was killed. Over four thousand soldiers, all slain in that electric fire. The southern part of the army had not had time to arrive when the blast erupted. If they had, they would have died, too. As it was, only those in the front were harmed, though all of them were knocked over by the rush of air from the blast. Several were knocked unconscious, and many found their ears or noses bleeding.  
  
The ground was blasted apart. A huge channel was dug, a new river formed. Millions of gallons rushed out of Lake Gato to fill the void. The debris was washed away in a flood tide of water.  
  
Alucard's dying form was the last thing to fall. Still clutching the Shatterstar, his burned and blasted corpse was knocked down and dragged off by the current's undertow.  
  
- There you go. Send reviews! 


	21. Black As Light

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy/different language/etc.  
  
Hey people. Silverlocke980 here! A big shout-out to all my reviewers for supporting me in the war against flamers. Geeky bastards give everyone on the Internet a bad name. Bloody dorks.  
  
To my e-mailers...  
  
Ciara (SARAH!) Cant: Harry isn't going to "kill all muggles" for the simple reason that he could care less about them. He's too involved in the Wizard world right now to notice. As for Voldemort and the Ministry, read this chapter.  
  
The Simple One: Tonks appears this chapter. And as for metamorphs... not to give anything away, but you'll be pleasantly surprised.  
  
A lot of people have mentioned three subjects: 1.) Where is the Order of the Pheonix? 2.) Why is the Black Tide overpowered? and 3.) When will Voldemort and the Ministry ally with each other?  
  
All will be revealed in the story, except number 2, which I will answer here. The Black Tide isn't overpowered- it's been the advantage of surprise. That will change very quickly, however... Expect the Tide to have one hell of a fight on it's hands in the next few chapters.  
  
Ladies and Gentleman, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 17  
  
Black as Light  
  
From the front page of the Daily Prophet, Wizard newspaper, June 30th:  
  
BROKEN ARMY RETURNS HOME  
  
Barely a day after setting out, the army of the Ministry returns to Lunas, bloodied, bruised, and barely alive. The ten thousand strong army has returned with it's numbers halved. According to the survivors, they were camped at Lake Gato when a wave of Corpse Hungers and Great Crocodiles stormed the beaches. However, that was not the worst attack upon the army. On the western side of the lake, where most of the commanding staff was housed, a disaster occurred, sometime early this morning; a Shatterstar was used to completely devastate the western shore. Every single person on the western side was killed, including the the general in charge, Alucard Integral, and his commanding staff.  
  
Although this is obviously a Black Tide attack, something else seems to be at work here, in the eyes of this editor. The Beastkeepers were, by their own admission, targeted by an extremely light assault. Why were they spared? Luck of the draw? Fate? I think not.  
  
If this is finger-pointing, so be it. I will point my finger, and stand my ground. I request that Walter Andrews, leader of the Beastkeepers at Lake Gato, be investigated for treason. I regard the fact that they were not attacked by any real force as significant evidence that he, or someone high ranking in Beastkeeper staff, were involved in this deadly assault.  
  
As further evidence, I ask you to read these notes, found in his personal files by...  
  
(article continued on page 2)  
  
Alexander Ceras  
  
Editor, Daily Prophet News  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Jester's Keep, Oceania. June 30th. 2:00 a.m.  
  
Harry put the newspaper down, sighed a sigh of contentment, and laid his head back on his throne, smiling. That should give the Ministry something to bother with for a while. The Beastkeepers had always been regarded as a strange, semi-legal portion of the Ministry army, and the regular army had always been leery of them, despite their repeated shows of bravery and valor. They hung in the balance, not damned outright but not accepted either. A single well-placed salvo could tip that balance and send them plummeting into darkness. Unfortunately for them, there was a very fiery, well-liked editor on the Daily Prophet who liked young ladies of sixteen or so. Preferably naked.  
  
Harry broke out laughing as he thought this. The throne room was mostly empty; it was the afternoon, and most of the soldiers in Oceania were busy building. The first children born under the banner of the Jester King were going to be arriving soon, and a hospital was being constructed to accommodate the young mothers and children. Padma had taken a particular liking to this task, and most of the foundation was made of pure rock and stone. She'd wanted to build the entire thing, but that was impossible. Certain flows of magic were enhanced or retarded by various things, and healing was one of them. Stone retarded it, but wood enhanced it. The rest of the building was lumber, and the frame was already up. Not being able to build all of it with her magic, Padma had nonetheless helped by creating golems to help cut the trees for lumber and place them on the half-finished structure.  
  
It wouldn't be St. Mungo's, but with the nurturing aura of Earth helping it, it would serve just fine for their needs.  
  
Those few servants in the throne room ignored Harry. Most of the soldiers in Oceania, particularly the older veterans, were used to his laughter by now. It no longer bothered them.  
  
[ You really can get used to anything], Harry mused as he watched his servants. He was currently in human form, but the glitter of the Jester shone in his eyes.  
  
In front of him, Cho, who had been talking with some of her Enchanters, dismissed them. As they left, the various weapons or armor pieces they'd brought for inspection clanking as they walked out of the throne room, she stood up and walked over to Harry's throne. She sat down on his lap, pressing (not unpleasantly) against him. She wrapped her arms around him, and put her mouth to his ear.  
  
" Love," Cho said, her voice husky, " why don't we... retire to our bedroom?"  
  
Harry chuckled, his arms loosely wrapped around her waist. " Ah, your favorite place." He chuckled once more, as he drew her into a fierce kiss. Tongues dancing, they parted as abruptly as they'd come together. Cho's face was split with a wolfish grin. Harry chuckled again as he saw the fire in her eyes and felt the heat of her. " What, do you want to do it here, where everyone can see?"  
  
Her grin spread even wider. " Why not? Give them a show. Give a public display of your... hidden talents?" She chuckled as she spoke this last bit, nuzzling his face.  
  
Harry stood up, easily holding Cho's weight as she clung to him with arms and legs. " Maybe. But I think I'll keep you private."  
  
Darkness came up from the floor at their feet, as they kissed again. The darkness covered them, and they were transported to their room, which was dominated by a large bed, which itself was soon dominated by their two bodies and the endless flood of heat through them both...  
  
In the main hall, the servants looked at each other and shrugged. They kept cleaning, the only noise the soft whisper of brooms against the floor.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Voldemort's Fortress, England. Same time.  
  
Voldemort rubbed his temples. He couldn't believe what he was about to do. If, during the first war, someone had told him that one day he would join up with the bloody *Ministry* of Magic, he would have laughed his head off- and then killed them. But now, he had no choice. He could not fight a war on two fronts ([ Although,] part of his mind commented, [ it seems Harry is doing just fine,]).  
  
He called Wormtail to him with his mind, mentally summoning the sniveling bastard. Like the pitiful, kicked dog he was, Wormtail crawled into the room through the open door, pathetically eager to please- and even more pathetically ready to dodge if Voldemort should go off on him. Voldemort sighed. Murphy's Law was right. If it can go wrong, it will. The "can" happened to be worthless servants; the "will" was looking right at him.  
  
Voldemort looked at Wormtail, watched him quiver under his gaze for a while, then said, " I have something special for you."  
  
Wormtail looked at his master, eager to accept but afraid of danger. He peered forward from his eternally hunched-over look and, like a child placing it's hand towards a dog to see if it will bite, cautiously said, " What is it, master?"  
  
Voldemort wondered briefly what jumping up and screaming like a madman would do to Wormtail. Probably kill him with a heart attack, no doubt. Part of him wanted to try, just to see the sniveling coward's reaction. His mind began instantly contemplating turning the thought into action. He readied himself to spring...  
  
[ Focus on business,] he thought to himself. Voldemort was not used to restraining his urges, and as the Dark Lord had never had too. But now, he must focus if he was to regain his former status and exile this young upstart from the world. He turned and said to Wormtail, " Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you." He instead reached over and pulled open one of the drawers in his desk. He reached in among the various files and papers and pulled out a box. Inside was a Polyjuice Potion, mixed with a ForeverKiss potion. The resultant mixture would make the drinker become the person mixed with the Polyjuice potion permanently. The ForeverKiss potion was hard to make, and expensive to boot, enough so that this was one of only two Voldemort had.  
  
" You must drink this," Voldemort said, taking the glass potion vial out of the cushioned silk lining of the box and placing it on the edge of the desk, " and go to the Ministry. You must go there and make our case to the Wizengamot. We need allies..."  
  
" Sir!" Wormtail said, shocked. " But... there's no way they'd ever consider allying with us!" He seemed offended by the very suggestion. [ Scared witless, too,] Voldemort thought, his dislike of Wormtail deepening.  
  
" Oh, they won't know it's us," Voldemort said, smiling his reptilian smile at the thought of approaching the Wizengamot with such an offer. The stone-cold faces of it's members would go slack as they all had a stroke at the exact same time. " They'll think we're an American Wizarding agency, newly arrived in Europe to deal with this crisis." He put extra emphasis on that last word. " A goodwill mission, if you prefer."  
  
And that would work. The European and American wizards were not friendly, but not enemies either; they were neutral, each group caught in it's own power struggles and internal battles, too preoccupied to deal with each other. Only a few major events (such as the battle between the M1A1 Abrams and the mating dragon pair Mr. Weasley had been so interested in) brought the two into contact with each other. Europe wouldn't bother checking to see if this new organization actually existed or not.  
  
" Your orders are here," Voldemort said, pushing a small envelope towards him. " Burn the contents when you've read it." Wormtail picked up the letter, then gazed at the Polyjuice potion lying on the edge of the desk. " And remember," he said, smiling, " you're a salesman now."  
  
" A salesman of what?" Wormtail said. " What am I selling to these wizards and witches?"  
  
" Why, the organization known as Coyote," Voldemort said, still grinning his reptile grin.  
  
- Part 2 (the Order of the Pheonix) coming soon! 


	22. Dark as Morning

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Thoughts.  
  
* *- Telepathy/Italics/Foreign Language.  
  
Hey everyone. Here's part 2 of Chapter 17. I have a feeling that all of my fans are going to rise up and hang me if I don't do it soon. Nymphadora Tonks finally appears here. And one good question, to everyone: At the time of Order of the Phoenix, how old is Harry? I can't figure it out (small brain + lack of mathematical ability = me stupid). I think he's about 15-16 years old. Please, tell me!  
  
And to Trevor the Enchanter, the constant critical thorn in my side- I reviewed Chapter 1 of your story. I still think that Digimon and Harry Potter are a very, *very* weird mix, but surprisingly it works. Still, I'm not the best person to ask to review such a work. I know absolutely nothing about Digimon, having never seen the show myself. My little sister does, though, so I asked her about some of the things in your story. I don't know how "in character" they are, though... I asked her, and she said you are correct in portraying their personalities. I won't review additional chapters, since I have no knowledge of Digimon and, hence, can't have a professional opinion, but I've included my own artistic view of your writing. Hope it helps. And one more thing I forgot- the little author notes like (sorry if this is misspelled) next to someone's name should NEVER be in the story itself. Add those at the beginning or the end. Don't mean to sound hateful, but it gets very annoying and distracting when one is reading and being surprised by author notes every ten lines.  
  
Oh, and before I forget- in one of the only reviews I've read for my new chapter (I'm not terribly up-to-date on them yet) someone asked if Harry paid off the reporter. Yes, he did, and you'll be seeing a lot more of Mr. Alexander Ceras in both this chapter... and beyond...   
  
And now, with my prattling done, it's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 17  
  
Part 2  
  
Dark as Morning  
  
Wizengamot, Ministry of Magic headquarters, July 10.  
  
Susannah Bones, looking less like a Minister than a scarecrow that has been badly abused, sighed as she pulled herself forward in her chair. By the gods, she was cold inside. The disaster at Lake Gato would have been bad enough if it was only a military matter; now it had worsened into a economic and political fiasco as well. A Daily Prophet editor named Alexander Ceras had unleashed a floodtide equal to that which had surged forth from Lake Gato after the battle, calling the battle the " Lake of the Damned" and unleashing a media frenzy. Every single self-respecting editor and reporter had instantly seized this new moniker, turning what would have normally been only a horrifying disaster into the worst military crisis in history. Alexander Ceras' lurid, almost obscene descriptions of the battle had caused the Prophet to be bombarded with owls from adults who had trouble sleeping for the dreams they inspired. The pictures he had, pictures of the battle from a "hidden source" ( the hidden source was Harry Potter and Cho Chang; they'd simply recreated the scenes using their magics and Neville's memory to make them as realistic as possible), were printed and caused an even bigger uproar. But all of it paled compared to his greatest acheivement.  
  
The people of the Ministry didn't want to believe that a bunch of teenagers with swords (as they thought of the Tide) could manage something of this magnitude. They didn't want to know the truth, which made them quite eager to accept a lie.  
  
Alexander Ceras had engaged in the finger pointing that all newspaper editors engage in from time to time; the difference here was that he was not only pointing at a person, but at a (to use a Muggle term) smoking gun as well.  
  
The Beastkeepers were not well respected by the army, even in the most equitable of times. Their odd bond with their animal companions made them outcasts, freaks among wizards. So they made a natural scapegoat for the people... and Alexander Ceras was more than happy to supply the rope to hang them with.  
  
In his very first editorial, he had made the outline of his case. Even Susannah, who thought the man a dangerous firebrand, had to admit his skill. The bastard had the finest writing technique she'd ever come across. He made his outline in the first editorial, leaking out just enough information to pique everyone's interest in article 2. Then, writing like his small section of the newspaper was a mystery novel, he began relaying facts about the early life and history of the formerly unknown leader of the Beastkeepers, Walter Andrews, and the history of the Beastkeepers as well, pointing out hideous disasters in their history, all of which were true (though he failed to mention the fact that the regular army had a list of complete failures three times as long and twice as horrifying). He promised more in his next article, and there was more. And more. And more.  
  
He kept building up the suspense, leaving his audience hungry for the next installment, the next set of clues. With each article he painted another brushstroke of Walter Andrews, who in personal life was a calm, humble man, as a monster hiding behind a gentleman's facade. He painted the Beastkeepers as feral animals, little better than the monsters they commanded, bearing a grudge against Wizardkind and more than willing to exercise it. He pointed at various experiments with Corpse Hungers that Walter Andrews had participated in, at the various times when Beastkeeper charges went out of control at strangely opportune moments for the Beastkeepers. One such case, a stampede that had killed several Ministry employees, had occurred when the Beastkeepers were seeking better pay. The Ministry had quickly complied after the accident. The absolute coincidence was made, by Alexander Ceras' damning pen, to look like a carefully planned and orchestrated move. The Ministry was receiving letters by the trainload, asking for the court martial and investigation of Walter Andrews, and some even calling for his hanging. Even more asked for the disbanding of the Beastkeepers, and many- too many, Susannah thought- asked for their exile from the Ministry, with death as the punishment for those who would not leave.  
  
The Daily Prophet was raking in the cash, selling more newspapers than it ever had before. Alexander Ceras was already a shoe-in to become editor of the year, and several other well-known publications had offered him exorbitant amounts of money to join their publications. He was a star, and milking it for all it was worth.  
  
Susannah had tried to stop the floodtide, but in the end her dam of words was nothing compared to the rush of ink from Alexander's pen. She could do nothing before the public's outrage. Today, barely a few hours ago, Walter Andrews had been arrested and brought to trial. The Wizengamot didn't even bother with the formalities of a full military court; everyone, including Walter, knew that this was a farce. They all knew that the outcome had been decided long before, had been decided by the flame and fire of one man's pen, far away. He had come in full military dress, and when the two guards moved forward after the verdict of guilty had been read to the charges of " treason and malicious intent towards the Ministry of Magic" to rid him of his military costume and cast him into shame, he had stood and said nothing. His newly nude form had been shackled and delivered directly into the cells of the Ministry, to await his execution in the morning. He had not said one word during all this. He intended to go with dignity.  
  
To say that the Beastkeeper legions were in an uproar was an understatement akin to saying that California is prone to earthquakes; it was boiling, seething with newfound hatred and rage. Many Beastkeepers had thought that Walter Andrews was the answer to their prayers. A kind, honorable, dignified man, he was every bit the perfect English gentleman. His aura of greatness was an almost sure-fire way to counter the negative image the Beastkeepers had gained over the years as slovenly, bestial creatures. His very uprightness, his essential *humanity* would ensure their eventual acceptance into the military and, thereafter, the greater Wizarding community. His ascension to commander of the Beastkeeper legions had been a major step forward for them.  
  
Or so they thought.  
  
Instead, this model of a man had been thrown down, crushed beneath the brutal heel of repressed public prejudice. (Harry Potter personally found it funny; an intelligent, thinking man hunted down by stupid, ignorant beasts. Quite funny, really.)  
  
The Beastkeeper legions were almost ready to start a civil war. Not three weeks ago, they had been standing on the brink of acceptance; now every Beastkeeper was advised to travel with a group, so as to avoid the assaults of a outraged public. Insults had been slung on them, sometimes mud, sometimes rocks. Sometimes worse. One was killed when a man bearing the unfortunate combination of prejudice and magical knowledge attacked him in the streets. The fireball that erupted forth from the man's wand had caught the Beastkeeper on fire. No one bothered to help the dying man.  
  
The White Shore was horrified that the Ministry and it's people could be in such a state. Hermione Granger, the Snow Lady, had summed up the White Shore's feelings before the Wizengamot, at her last official meeting with them, by saying " How can we trust you? You turn against your own people in prejudice and blind ignorance. How can we trust such dishonorable people?" They were considering pulling out of their alliance with the Ministry. Feelings were running high in the frozen north, hot and feverish thoughts of betrayal and stolen trust. No White Shore soldier would ever trust a Ministry man after this latest fiasco. Hermione herself had left, heading back to Durmstrang, after making her speech before them. Alexander Ceras hadn't touched on that yet, but he had mentioned in today's newspaper that he was " very interested in the conduct of some of our allies" and would " research the matter further tomorrow." His next article would surely be a blistering assault on the White Shore.  
  
Susannah stopped thinking to pause and consider for a second the strangeness of it all. The Ministry on the brink of civil war. The White Shore pulling out. The Black Tide winning it's battles. And now, the strangest thing she'd done so far in a very strange career-  
  
Sending a metamorph to be Harry's pet.  
  
Before her stood Nymphadora Tonks, a metamorph who was the only one they'd found who had all the right qualites: youth, experience, loyalty, and best of all, extreme cunning. What she was about to do was going to take every drop of that last she had.  
  
" Nymphadora Tonks," Susannah said, her voice far older than it had been a millenia ago, when Fudge still sat in the seat she now occupied, " we have called you here for a special task."  
  
" I stand ready for anything," Tonks said, her head high and proud.  
  
" I hope so," Susannah said, the coldness in her body and the icy laughter that always accompanied her digging in a little deeper, laughing just a little louder, " we believe that you can be of great help to us. But this will require great sacrifice. Can you do it?"  
  
Tonks looked at her and said, " Whatever is required, I will give. My life, if need be."  
  
Susannah almost smiled. She found it funny that Tonks thought that her life was her most important gift. The icy laughter and coldness in her had changed more than her attitude; it had changed her sense of humor. It was demented now, darkness and despair, twisted and warped. And the worst part was, she didn't even find it worrisome. Her sense of humor wasn't even close to being her top problem at the moment.  
  
" Ah, but there's the rub. Would you give your very body for the Ministry?" Susannah asked, feeling uncustomarily humorous. Dark though it was, it gave her something to chuckle about, something to warm the frozen corridors of her heart.  
  
" Ma'am?" Tonks asked, genuinely puzzled. Her hair changed colors rapidly, as if confused too. Other Wizengamot members looked at Susannah oddly, as if trying to understand their leader better. Susannah was enjoying herself.  
  
" I'm asking, dear girl," Susannah said, " if you will give your body to the pleasures of a young boy. For the good of the Ministry."  
  
Tonks, understanding finally hitting her, said, " What..? You want me to... I mean..."  
  
" Yes, Miss Tonks, that's exactly what I mean. We need you to become Harry's little pet. A favored pet, too. He's a teenager, and though he is certainly a strange and powerful one, he still has hormones. You need to use those hormones. Do whatever the little bastard wants you to do; if he wants to tie you up, let him. If he wants you to tie *him* up, do so. You must make him believe you want nothing more than his pleasure. Understand?"  
  
A murmur ran through the Wizengamot. By all the gods, what was Susannah doing? This strange frankness wasn't like her. They stared at her, as if she had undergone some weird metamorphosis of her own and become a new creature entirely. She found her humor was becoming ever keener, ever sharper. She was, for the first time in weeks, enjoying herself.  
  
" Mrs. Bones..." Tonks trailed off, staring at the Minister. The blade of Susannah's humor sliced forth again.  
  
" Every man cries to his whore," Susannah said, drawing a startled gasp from a elderly member of the Wizengamot. The old man was shocked and left his mouth open, like a carp trying to breathe air. " Harry Potter will be no different. When he tells you enough, kill him in bed and get the hell out. Report back to us here, tell us immediately, and speak of this with no one else. No superior commander, no friends, no one. This is strictly top-secret. Understand?"  
  
Tonks, stunned dumb, nevertheless managed to nod. She looked ready to cry. A mere girl, vainly hoping to make a difference and fight for the Ministry, now asked to participate in this shameful, sickening endeavor. Asked to sell herself like the cheapest of prostitutes, her naive dreams of honor and good dashed against the stone of the Wizengamot's will. It wasn't supposed to be like this, her blurry eyes said. Where is the honor I hoped for? Where... where is my life? The life I was supposed to have, as an Auror... Where?  
  
Susannah felt a moment's shame for having caused this girl such pain, then felt like a fool. The girl should grow up and leave such notions behind.  
  
" You set out today. Make yourself acceptable and young- sixteen or seventeen. Large breasts, thin, wide hipped, the works. Your target is Oceania- we will provide transportation. Understand?"  
  
" Yes," Tonks managed through a film of shame. A single tear glistened on her cheek as it rolled down, the only physical sign of the great betrayal she had just suffered she would allow herself.   
  
The cold in Susannah dug deeper.  
  
She found she no longer cared.  
  
Laughter in the darkness.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Dungeons underneath Ministry of Magic headquarters, 11:30 p.m. that night.  
  
Walter Andrews, a man who had sacrificed much in his life to help his people, was now going to die for crimes he had not committed. He took this as he took everything in his life- with dignity and honor. He would not stoop to a gibbering animal, begging for mercy, before the public. That's what they wanted. And he would be damned before doing such a thing. He sat in his jail cell, naked and cold, and did all he could do: he thought.  
  
The four guards on his cell had laughed and cursed and spit at him. He had not eaten since breakfast that morning- he had gotten no food here. The guard had laughed at him, and said, " This is for the soldiers you killed, you bastard!" He'd unzipped his pants and pissed in the soup that would have been Walter's last meal, and when he'd finished he'd kicked it into the cell bars, spreading it everywhere. Walter had simply moved aside and said nothing, only stared at the man with the knowledge that, though naked and in a jail cell, he was better than this pitiful excuse for a man. The guard had faltered under that stare, mumbled something about "freaks" under his breath, and turned away. That had been about twenty minutes ago. A different guard ambled towards the front of the cell, a sneering grin on his face. Again, Walter thought, the fools mock me. Pathetic creatures. This one strongly resembled a Muggle star named James Dean, with a slightly wider face. His blue eyes portrayed his supreme arrogance.  
  
The guard opened his mouth and said, " Hey, you beast. Cold in there for you? Shaking in your boots? Oh yeah, forgot. You don't have any boots." He sniggered laughter. Walter just stared at him, holding on to his essential dignity, a gentleman no matter what the cost. " Yeah, you just stand there and be cool. You'll scream in the end. You know how they do it, don't you? They eviscerate you." The man made a ripping, tearing sound, grossly exaggerated. The other guards laughed. " Cut your stomach open and rip out your organs, one by one. They keep you enchanted while they do it, just to make sure you don't get out of the game too soon, you know?" He chuckled again. " You'll scream, like all the others."  
  
" I highly doubt it," Walter said, his face that of a baron viewing his lessers and not a nude man in a prison cell facing his guards.  
  
The guard's face twisted into an ugly sneer. " Yeah right, you bastard. You go on doubtin' it. Right up until they rip your intestines out on the end of a long steel knife. You just go right on doubtin' it." He walked back to the other guards, sure in his arrogance. Yeah, he was better than some Beastkeeper. Yeah, he was cool, he was tough. He sauntered back to the others.  
  
Another guard, the same one that had pissed in his soup, turned and began saying, " Shouldn't have let you bastards in the army. Ruined everything. Stink the place up. Maybe now we can clear you out and leave more room for real men!" The guards all barked their laughter.  
  
" And you consider yourselves real men?" Walter asked, lowering one eyebrow.  
  
Their laughter stopped short, in mid-bark. They all turned to him, faces angry. One, who had a thick, bulbous nose and ugly face to match, said " You talking tough to me, man? 'Cuz I sure as hell don't see you breaking out of those bars. You can't talk to me like that."  
  
" Why not?" Walter said. " I will talk to you as I see fit. You're not men. You're just little boys playing dress-up with daddy's uniform." Walter turned, the epitome of dignity, brushing them off as if they had been rude guests at his house and not his jailors.  
  
The guard who had used his soup as a toilet had had enough. He pulled his gauntlet on tighter, cracking his knuckles for theatrical effect. " Yeah, we'll see about that. I'll show you who's a little boy. Got a present for ya, beast lover." He walked forward, fist raised, the rune stone that was the key for the cell pulsating slowly in his left hand. " Teach you to talk to real men like that, you dirty beast."  
  
" You won't if you have any idea what's good for you," a voice from behind him said. A sword point, razor sharp, was pressed against the back of his neck. " Turn around slowly," the voice advised, the point pressing in just a little to emphasize the words. " Try anything, and I'll slit your throat."  
  
The guard stopped dead, fist raised as his mind pondered what had just happened. His thoughts were almost visible on his face as he ran off his options. He eventually decided that his life was more important than his reputation as a real man. He turned around slowly. He goggled at the sight before him, eyes going huge. The sword point now below his Adam's apple was not the only strange thing here.  
  
The other three guards were in similar positions. One was on the floor, holding his hands to his crotch and laying on the floor, gasping. Another was flat to the wall, a sword blade placed across his neck. The last guard was completely unconscious, blood trickling from his scalp. The boot that had caused his impromptu nap prodded his body, producing a groan. Satisfied that the guard was still alive, the owner of the boot stepped over him.  
  
The four who had broken in and subdued the guards with such ease and stealth were quite the sight to behold. Their clothing was strange- it was white, a color that should have been easily noticed, but for some reason his eyes seemed to want to jump away from them, as if it had been diverted. With a sense of dread, he recognized the tell-tale effects of a Not-Here spell. Not-Here spells, the kissing cousins of Invisibility spells, were popular among assassins and thieves. Not-Here spells made the eye move away from the target, to find something else to look at, to not notice anything amiss. They were not invisibility cloaks, but they were close, and actually better when dealing with humans. Invisibility cloaks just made you impossible to see; Not-Here made you seem to not exist.  
  
These people would have been impossible to spot. But Ministry technology should have spotted them anyway... how did they get in?  
  
" How did you get in here?" the guard demanded. " You can't..!"  
  
He drew in his breath sharply, as a likewise sharp point touched his bobbing Adam's apple. " I wouldn't talk much," the owner of that sword said. " It's not conducive to a long life."  
  
The clothing itself was tight-fitting, close to the body. The only thing a Not-Here spell couldn't mess with was the sense of touch; being touched by a person under such a spell would allow you to see them normally. So the clothing had been designed so as not to accidently brush someone's passing arm. The face was covered in a white mask, much like an oriental ninja's hood- but unlike the black facemasks of those dark warriors of night, this white mask covered everything. There were no eyeholes- it was simply blank, a tight-fitting shroud on the face. Another spell must be on it, the guard thought. So they could see. He noticed with a sinking feeling that he had just pissed his pants. Even though he'd just peed in Walter's soup, enough was left to trickle down his leg. He was too scared to notice.  
  
" The key," the masked warrior said. The guard, scared as he had never been before, opened his left hand and letting the rune key drop from it. He realized belatedly that these must be Beastkeepers, sent to rescue Walter. They had been told to expect this, but they were real men. What did real men have to fear from a group of beast lovers? He overwhelmed the odd thought that passed through his mind ([ What if I ain't a real man?] he'd thought, in a strange moment of real intelligence) with false bravado.  
  
" You a bunch of beast lovers too, ain't you?" he said, full of himself now and trying a macho act that was grossly incongruous with the situation. " Yeah. Figured you bastards would try somethin' like this. We gonna kill every one of you, ya here? Kill every damn one of you." He grinned, trying to prove his toughness.  
  
The warrior in front of him kicked him so hard in the stomach that he forgot all about his toughness. He simply fell over, tears streaming out of his eyes. The warrior in front of him raised his sword hand in front of his chest, sword tip aiming out at his left shoulder and blade across his chest.  
  
" Pathetic," the soldier said. " You are sickening. I expected better from a Ministry soldier. And no, we're not Beastkeepers." He raised the sword higher, away from his chest. " I should kill you here," he said, looking down at the man and clenching his sword tighter. The guard, tears streaming out his eyes, blubbered for mercy as best he could, the breath knocked out of him by the force of the kick.  
  
A second warrior turned to him. " Sir, I don't think this is a good idea..."  
  
The first held his hand out. " Hold on."  
  
He struck hard, the pommel of his sword rapping out and knocking the guard out. The guard hit the floor hard, and stayed there. The first warrior turned to the others.  
  
" Knock'em out."  
  
They did so, using pommels and feet to pile the remaining guards on the rather cramped floor. The guards offered little resistance to gravity as they sunk low and hit the floor.  
  
Stooping and picking up the key, Kaleb Isaacs turned to his fellow white-clad White Shore soldiers. He went to Walter's cell and opened the door. " Sir, we've come to rescue you."  
  
Walter looked at them, much like a gentleman viewing a interesting display. " Who are you, young sir?"  
  
Kaleb smiled under his white mask. " The White Shore. And we want to offer a new home to you. It's cold in the north, but infinitely more hospitable."  
  
Walter smiled. " Then north it is."  
  
He stepped out of the cell, not embarassed at all by his nakedness. He strode out, pausing only to look at the guards in the cell. He chuckled then and walked on.  
  
- I would do the Order of the Pheonix, but this has been a long chapter anyway. Plus, I DON'T KNOW WHO ALL IS IN THE ORDER. I MUST KNOW BEFORE I CAN WRITE ANYTHING ABOUT THEM. Please, send me a list of every single person in the order. Don't bother not adding those I've already killed- I need everyone. So send them in a review or e-mail. And until next time, my friends!  
  
P.S. Yes, the guard's dialogue is my satiric attack upon the way gang members talk. And no, the White Shore guys aren't the KKK! See you all later. 


	23. Bleak Justice

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
  
[]- Indicates thought.  
  
* *- Indicates telepathy.  
  
Hey everybody. Silverlocke980 here again. I've been reading the reviews, and noticing two current trends of thought on everyone's favorite metamorph- 1.) Make her join forces with Harry! and 2.) You're not going to (gulping noise) kill her, are you?  
  
I can tell you the answer to the first one now, before the clamor gets any louder; Nymphadora Tonks is NOT going to join forces with Harry. I have a plan for Nymphadora, and it does not involve Harry or the Tide. And about number 2... even I don't know the answer yet. As a writer, one does not always dictate the flow of the story. I'm leaning towards one answer at the moment, but I might be persuaded by fan letters. Send reviews with your opinions.  
  
And as for the Order of the Pheonix... I'm going to include a few of the members, but don't expect them anytime soon. Things are getting complicated enough for me just using the characters I have without adding anyone else.  
  
And one more thing. A lot of people have said that the name of the current Minister of Magic, who I've been calling Susannah Bones, is actually Amelia. If this is true, I'm going to hunt all of you down (glares at fans who didn't say anything). Bloody hells, people! I've been doing this for a long time now, and no one has said anything at all! I'll simply keep calling her Susannah, to avoid any confusion, but still. If I am doing anything else stupid, TELL ME. I don't like being embarassed (cries). So please, everyone, be nice to the stupid author and tell me things.  
  
Well, here's goes nothing. It's...  
  
"SHOWTIME!"  
  
Chapter 19  
  
Bleak Justice  
  
Jester's Keep, Oceania, July 13. 12:00 p.m.  
  
Seamus looked up, from his position on the hill below it, at the massive form of the Jester's Keep. It was being constructed at an amazingly rapid pace, and even now the second floor was being finished. Padma had offered to help, but Harry had rejected her. Magically constructed buildings were generally weaker than those made by hand, and Harry wanted the keep as strong as possible. "Keep" was a bad name for it, though; it was starting to take on the aspect of a castle. Gazing at it, it was easy to believe the immense power of the Jester. Seamus shook his head. Amazing. Simply amazing. That anyone could do this...  
  
Seamus turned and continued walking down the path ( it looked like a dirt path, but an invisible cushion made it flat and smooth) from the keep. He had a personal mission today, one he had planned for a long time. One he had dreamed of, for so long, even before becoming the Black General. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine as he thought of that. Ah, yes. The Black General. Such a beautiful title.  
  
As he walked, he passed many residents of Oceania who were new to him; so many were streaming in that Cho, who had become the official Census-Taker, was swamped with work. Almost every person coming in was under twenty years old, and even the ones older than that were usually under twenty five. The Tide had become a strange sort of "youth group" to the Wizarding community. Thinking this, Seamus chuckled to himself. Youth group, indeed. This particular youth group had little to say on the matters of good habits and respect, and much to say on how to kill others for pay and pleasure, not to mention the ever more important goal of world domination.  
  
As Seamus walked, one girl caught his eye in particular. Seamus had never seen such a pretty girl. Her hair was the red of a campfire, her eyes a bright, lively green. Her lips were full and sensuous, her face freckled at the cheeks and nose, her breasts full, her hips wide. She had attained a state of bodily perfection, and she perked Seamus' interest (along with other, less mentionable things). His head turned to watch her as she walked (and it wasn't alone; half the street was staring at her), and he was about to put his quest on hold and follow her when a falsely sweet voice interrupted his train of thought.  
  
" Staring, Seamus? You'll soon be known as the Lusting General if you don't watch it. Generals are famous for it, you know. All that killing makes a man horny."  
  
Turning, he saw Ginny perched on a nearby stone. Her knees were bent out, her hands between her feet, her body bent forward with the wings swept back. All in all, she resembled nothing so much as a gargoyle. Her face held the little cocky smirk he had known would be on it even before he turned.  
  
" Indeed it does," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. " Besides, you're just jealous."  
  
" Oh, please. We're all just so... much... meat." She had punctuated this last with an extremely disorienting head spin. Her face had started turning towards the side, and then, in complete defiance of natural law, had spun on around until her chin pointed towards the sky and her hair spilled to the ground. Her smile remained the same, though turned upside down. Besides her neck and head, no other part of her body had moved. Seamus, who had (to quote Macbeth) "supp'd full of horrors," still felt a measure of shock at this. He blinked at her, and she broke out into a laugh when she saw his expression of dumbfoundment.  
  
" Didn't expect this one, did ya?" she said, head still unnaturally turned upside down. " Oh, you'd be surprised what positions I can get into."  
  
" Most of them in the bedroom," Seamus said, the shock having worn off (although it was very weird to be looking into someone's eyes when their head was upside down).  
  
" Oh, touche. How witty." She rolled her eyes, her eyes going down first and then up. " Of course, we could try and see what it leads to..." she leaned forward, head still upside down, lips parted in a smile. Her face was several feet from him, but Seamus got the idea.  
  
" My dear," he said, a smirk on his lips, " there are enough diseases to pick up from having sex with living people. What in the name of all the gods would I pick up screwing dead ones?"  
  
Ginny broke up at this. Her head assummed it's natural position with another sickening roll as her laughter rang out. " Oh, thank you, Seamus," she said, still laughing as she rolled her eyes. " That just makes me feel great. You're so kind to the dead girl."  
  
Seamus snorted at this. " I can't believe this. What was that Muggle movie, " Sixth Sense?" Instead of " I see dead people," my theme could be " I screw dead people."  
  
Ginny laughed again at this, and her eyes were squeezed so tight as she laughed that, if any tears had come to the surface, they would have immediately been pushed outside. But Ginny could not cry, could never cry. It was an ability lost to her, as lost as her innocence.  
  
Not that she missed either of these things very much.  
  
Still chuckling, she flapped her wings once and deftly leapt off the rock. She stood up and said, " Where are you going this fine day? Besides that girl's panties, I mean."  
  
Seamus shook his head. " A personal thing. I've got someone to kill."  
  
Ginny cocked her head, and for a moment Seamus expected her head to slip and turn upside down again. Natural law apparently won out for the moment, and it was with a normally positioned head that Ginny said, " Really? What fun. May I come with you? I'm rather bored today." Her wings rustled, as if in anticipation of the coming excitement.  
  
" Well," Seamus said, about to say no when a thought struck him. Ginny was his best friend, a kind of dark soulmate for him (though they were not in love... yet.) Soldiers who had seen them together during the Forest of Spears battle had taken to calling Ginny the " Black Lady". So why not take her? Let her see the darkness of his soul, the pain he'd carried so long. Maybe open up just a little, a small crack into his greatest secret.  
  
He almost let her come. But, then again, there are some secrets too deep for light to ever shine on them.  
  
" No. Sorry, Ginny, but this is personal."  
  
Ginny hung her head down, hair drooping. " Oh, can't I come? Please? I'm so bored..."  
  
Seamus shook his head. " Sorry. I have to do this on my own."  
  
She sighed dramatically, and said, " All right. Guess I'll have to find someone else to play with." She turned and started walking up the road to the Jester's Keep, her wings wrapped about her shoulders like a cloak. Seamus figured she'd go bother Harry. He turned and kept walking down the road. Soon, he dissapeared behind the recently completed Mountain Rest hospital. It would be officially unveiled tomorrow. Padma was being instated as the first official Director of the school. She already had a group of healers ready to work, and not a moment too soon- the first child was expected in a month, the healthy child of a sixteen year old Purger and an eighteen year old Fire Elementalist.  
  
As soon as Seamus dissapeared around the corner of the building, Ginny flapped her wings and left the ground. Her leathern wings beat the air and for a while she struggled, feet barely off the ground. Then, a breeze came by, aiding her, and soon she was soaring into the air above Oceania. She swooped down on top of the hospital and crouched there like a bird, peering down at Seamus as he left Oceania's main path. He was heading to Firion's Gate, it looked like. Odd.  
  
She flapped her wings, and with a breeze to aid her, followed Seamus from above. Whatever he was doing, she wanted to be there to watch.  
  
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Terrier Street, London, England. 12:30 p.m.  
  
Terrier Street, named after those famous breeds of dogs, had garnered it's unusual name because of a strange pack of dogs that had lived there years ago. Around 1954, a pack of wild rat terriers had come to reside in this area, when it was still mostly rubble and poor housing. People took to calling it " that Terrier pack's street", and the name was shortened into Terrier Street. Which proves nothing, except the fact that anything, even a pack of wild rat terriers, can gain immortality in some way.   
  
On this street, there was a house, numbered 1141. This house was where a man named Johnathan Finnigan lived, with his wife Anna. It was a place that Seamus had lived in, during those hellish months when Hogwarts school was out. It was here that he was heading. On his couch in the brown living room, Johnathan drank another glass of vodka (his third) and read the Daily Prophet. The article he was currently reading (another excellent piece by Alexander Ceras) was a story about that monster Walter Andrews escaping his prison cell, abetted by other Beast-lovers. Johnathan's opinion, formed from few facts and much speculation, was nevertheless rock-hard. Maybe it was the fact that his son was now among the most wanted people in existence, maybe it was all that stress, but at that moment he was completely unshakeable in his belief, a belief he voiced in a hoarse, braying bellow.  
  
" We should kill all these damn Beast-lovers!" he yelled out, so loud that the neighbors would have heard it if the house was not sound-proofed with magic. " Bloody freaks are ruining this country!"  
  
His wife, a stern woman named Elena whose face was so sharp looking in it's angles that it resembled a razor blade, sniffed and said, " I agree. That nice man, Mr. Ceras, was just reporting the victory we'd all won the other day when Walter was jailed, and now look what's happened. That monster Walter is freed, the Beastkeepers dissappear, the Black Tide is still on the loose, and the White Shore just up and leaves the country. What is wrong with this world?" She shook her head sadly and walked into the kitchen, thinking that if people today were just a little more strict with their children, these things wouldn't happen. The whole White Shore and Black Tide (both of which she thought of as little children playing around) ideas would never have happened. It never occurred to her that her own child was among the most powerful people in the Tide, and his upbringing was nothing if not strict.  
  
Johnathan was about turn around and continue reading the article from Mr. Ceras (entitled, " Walter Andrews, Monster, recently escaped from jail" and subtitled with, " Why does the Ministry continue to fail us?,") when he heard a knocking at the front door. Rising up and complaining loudly that people should write letters before arriving unexpectedly, he walked to the small brown door and opened it, his stern, snobbish face already beginning to spout out a retort. What he saw there caught him by surprise, and his mouth simply hung where it was, like a codfish.  
  
In full battle dress (he had ensorcelled himself with Not-Here when in London, and had just dismissed the spell when he got here), visor open so his father could see his face, Seamus Finnigan, the Black General, was staring his father in the face. Before his father could do more than gape and stare, Seamus put his hand on him and shoved. His father fell backwards, his half-drunken state no match for Seamus' battle-trained muscles. He scattered the dining room as he staggered backwards, flinging the chairs and table around, only stopping when he hit the fridge. He stared at his son with wide-eyed horror and fear. Seamus stepped into the kitchen in the wake of his father's fall, closing the door behind him. He wanted no interruptions.  
  
Johnathan stared up at his son, face trembling. His entire life he had used his son as a convenient whipping-boy for all his problems, taking what was inside himself (his drinking habit, for example, which had started up again) and taking it out on his son. It was good therapy for him. He had always wanted his son to be meek, to bow before him, and before the Tide started Seamus had always been obedient. But now, his son standing before him, his face visible through his helm (the mouth set in a grim line), Johnathan trembled. The figure before him exuded an aura of *command*, of self-confidence which Johnathan had tried to drive out of his son with constant beatings and more insidious, psychological abuses. This was not the posturing of a boy, come back to show Daddy how tough he was; this was the strength of a man, a very evil man, but a man nonetheless. And this man had come back for revenge.  
  
" You... you..." Johnathan said, gasping for breath. His heart was racing, racing. The effects of the vodka he had drunk dissipated before the strength of fear. He heard his wife, hearing the commotion, run into the dining room door- and stopped, staring, at what she saw. Seamus looked at both of them, and then smiled. It was not a smile either of his parents cared for much.  
  
" Seamus," his mother said, her considerable calm and superiority gone, " what... what is... Why are you here?!?" Her voice trembled, her heart beginning to beat shakily, her whole body quivering.  
  
" Simple enough, isn't it?" Seamus said, looking at them with the same look of innate superiority they had always held for him, " I'm here for revenge."  
  
" Revenge?!?" his mother cried, standing in the door. " All we've ever done is feed you and put clothes on your back, and try to teach you the right way! And now," her hands fluttered, as if searching for answers in the air before them, " And now you go and join this little group or whatever it is..."  
  
Seamus' laughter barked out, a harsh laugh that stopped his floundering mother, her hands slowly stopping in mid-air, her eyes widening in horror. Her son never interrupted her, never. Her world had subtly shifted, the world as she saw it slipping off balance.  
  
" Little group? Little group! Oh, my dear, foolish mother. You have no idea what we are." He smiled, his grin the grin of a maddened wolf viewing it's prey. " But you'll know. Soon enough, you'll know more than you ever wanted." He raised his hand, and the force of his magic began to roil about him, distorting the landscape of the dining room; big as a football field, now small as a closet. His voice came slower now, as his concentration sharpened to a fine point in the distance. " This is my power. This... is my strength... Time... matter... space... all... mine... to command..."  
  
Ginny, watching outside under the cover of her own Not-Here spell, opened her eyes wide in shock. She knew what that spell was. She ducked low into the window, not wanting Seamus to see her and be distracted at this critical moment. She peered into the windows of the house, eyes wide. She would have held her breath, except for the fact that she didn't need to breathe anymore. As it was, she was unnaturally stiff, her body like a statue as she crouched low, fingers on the windowsill. What was happening inside, a son against his parents, was usually unnatural, but for some reason what was happening inside did not feel like sin to her. Odd. Maybe the real sin was what they'd done to him...  
  
Inside, the room had started to spin. Seamus was calling on all his power to warp the very fabric of time and space. It was a Arc Infinitum spell, a spell so incredibly taxing on the bearer that Wizards over a hundred years of age were advised against casting it, for fear of their hearts stopping over the strain. Seamus, a fit, healthy young man, nevertheless felt the strain and pull on his heart and mind. He spent the next few days with a terrible headache, but the pain was a small price to pay.  
  
For an Arc Infinitum spell gave you all the power of a Portkey without having to have one in the first place. They were untraceable, as well.  
  
Falling through dream and nightmare, rushing towards reality, they fell...  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Barracks' dungeon, Oceania, England. 1:00 p.m.  
  
Four Black Tide soldiers stood at attention, swords out, visors of their Marauder helmets down, a vision of evil in black armor. The runes glowed in the darkness of the room. The curved edge of their swords faced the ground, tips pointing right, gleaming softly. They'd been told to wait for Seamus' arrival. They'd been here for fifteen minutes now, having been told to come at twelve forty five. None of them had complained about the wait. Seamus was a real man, a true leader, and their loyalty to him was unwavering.  
  
The shadowy darkness of the room began to waver, a hole in time opening before their eyes. Purple bolts of energy flickered across this hole, a hole that opened onto a shifting, twisting stream of color that constantly changed. Through this opening, they had stood still. Seamus had asked for perfect stillness, perfect efficiency. They would not fail him.  
  
Soon, through this portal, Seamus appeared, followed by his father and mother. They appeared insubstantial at first, almost not there, then solidified as the dream took hold of them once more. Johnathan fell, the supporting fridge no longer there, and in the darkness Elena screamed. What was happening? Where were they, and who were these  
  
* monsters*  
  
soldiers before her? They stood stock-still, their swords out. What in the world was going on here?  
  
" Take them," Seamus said, his voice calm, " and tie them up, then leave us."  
  
The men stepped forward as one, and in the gloom of the room they looked like the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse, sans horses, walking forward to wreck their ruin upon the world. Elena tried to fight, but an iron grip grabbed her wrist. A second hand grabbed her arm and dragged her backwards, towards what felt like an iron wall. As she struggled in vain, a second pair of hands grabbed her feet and shackled her to the wall. Soon her hands were tied too. Next to her, her husband moaned as his terrified eyes switched back and forth between the soldiers in front of him. Their part finished, the men saluted Seamus and left in single file, in a perfectly neat row.  
  
" You see," Seamus said, after they had left, " I've become something far greater than you'd ever imagine. And I want you to see it all. So I've arranged something for you..."  
  
He laughed as a strange device, which oddly resembled an optometrist's glass changer with claws instead of eyeholes, came down from the ceiling and covered his mother's face. Her screams rang out into the sound-proofed room as the machine ripped her eyes out.  
  
- See you next chapter. Sorry about the lack of updates- been very busy lately! 


	24. Honor Among Thieves

LEGALITIES: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF (THOUGH, AS EXPLAINED BELOW, THE VERSIONS OF THEM I'VE CREATED DO BELONG TO ME)  
- Indicates thought.  
- Indicates italics/telepathy/foreign language

Hey everybody. Once again, I'm back. Trying to make up for all the lag time between the last few chapters... school really cuts into my life.  
Last chapter was short, but I had to clear up the Tonks question, before the fervor boiled over and Tonks fan letter-bombs started arriving in my mail. And now another question to clear up...

YOU CANNOT USE MY CHARACTERS.

I am very, very defensive about my characters. Harry, Hermione, all of them, they are my characters, redefined from J.K. Rowling's versions of them, remade into the molds I believe they fit in. I'm sorry to all my loving fans, and I feel very honored that you would deem my characters worthy of being in your fanfics, but I must hold my ground. Besides, if you take my characters and make them better, no one will read my fanfic :). So please, don't use my characters. I know that I have no legal power to enforce this, seeing as how they're not my original characters, but it's very dishonorable to go against an author's expressed wishes, to say the least. Please, don't use them. If I find out anyone has used them without my permission, I will blacklist you (stares menacingly at fans). So be warned! Don't break these rules!  
The single exception to the above-mentioned rules, an original character in my other fanfics, does belong to me, but that's dealt with in my profile and he's never been mentioned here. So, that point is moot.  
Likewise, someone mentioned creating a character "like" the Jester King, and then naming him that... that's a no-no. Heroes vs. villains are an interesting idea that I may have to pursue later, but for the moment, Harry's Jester King name is mine. You can use a Jester King-like character in your fanfic, but name him something else, to avoid confusion with mine. " Laughing Demon" may be a good title, if you will allow me the conceit of offering you one.  
That's enough talk for now. I'll be making this chapter a lot longer, to please you, my fans. So, here it is, Chapter 19 of Harry's Madness...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 19 Honor Among Thieves

Jester's Keep, Oceania, July 14th. 11:00 p.m.  
Harry stretched in his seat before his court, waiting for everyone to settle in. Running a city, particularly one growing as large as Oceania was ( over a thousand people had streamed in just from Firion's Gate and Halley's Gambit, with a little over fifteen hundred coming in from other parts of England), was a tiring, stressful job, but Harry was enjoying himself. Such fun, this power. No wonder Voldemort had tried to rule the world. This feeling of command, of strength, superseded everything Harry had ever felt before. In those old days, when he had walked in light.  
He snorted at this, reining in his laughter only with an effort. No. He had never walked in light. He had served light, been it's poster boy, but not due to his own efforts. He had been thrust into that role, and there is no one whose hatred is quite as strong as those who, through the choices of others, are placed on one of the sides in the great struggle of Good against Evil. Harry had not been given a choice, but merely told to fight for Good, to believe in it. Harry wondered now what, if anything, would be different if he had been allowed to make his choice. Would he have stayed with the silver white, stood in the rain? Or would he have done what he did now, thrown in his lot with the darkness of the soul, become the rain itself? He knew not, and part of him didn't want to know. Just thinking about it was delightful, and coming up with an answer would ruin the fun in it.  
But intellectual exercise could wait. He put that very interesting theological and psychological question away for another time, and began the meeting. Before he did, he glanced about the room, marveling at how well his mostly unskilled, novice architects had done, all things considered.  
The meeting hall was on the second floor, a safety measure that had been the very first issue of their first meeting. Since it hadn't been complete at the time, they'd held their meetings in the banquet hall, but now that the second floor was mostly finished (minus a few walls; the north side looked like an open mouth where a gap waited to be filled with stone) they'd moved here. The second floor was the strongest defensive position in the fortress, and had the best fortifications for defense and offense. So, logically, they'd decided to move there, to avoid catching the stray cannonball or lightning bolt hurled by any enemy who managed to get close enough to seige the keep. Safety lay in always thinking ahead, of being one step ahead of everyone else.  
The room was rectangular, set in the middle of the second floor (the one change to the architect's plan Harry had made). It wasn't very long, for only the top staff would come here. The Ebony Flame, as Harry called them, consisted of a very few key members of his personal staff, and were also his closest friends. In every piece of literature he'd ever read, in every movie he'd ever seen, villains were always paranoid loners, but Harry had found that truth was different from fiction, and even stranger. The people about him were monsters, no doubt about that (and he was the worst of them); but they were friends nonetheless. Friends whose Saturday night activites were more likely to include killing and robbing than talking about good books they'd read lately, but friends still. There was an unspoken code of honor in them, one that quietly declared that no promises made between them could be broken, that they would never harm each other in any way. Maybe that was the key to a dark utopia; honor, the very essence of Good itself, might be the beginning of an age of Evil. An even more interesting mental challenge than possible paths in his life.  
But it, too, had to go on the back burner, despite being the seed of an idea that would conceive of an empire of purest darkness for Harry. He didn't know that at the moment, so he brushed it away casually, like an errant strand of hair. He refocused himself on the room.  
Torches sat in the walls, smokeless torches that gave off far more light than a normal fire. The walls were bare, save for several maps ( one of England, one of Oceania, one of Lunas, and various points of interest inbetween). Done up by Cho Chang with her magic, the maps grew and changed with the cities they represented. Even now, little bustling figures surrounded a structure outside Lunas, where the Necromancers were building a new piece of mining equipment in the Boneyards. Sometimes, Harry would come up here and just watch the maps, watch his empire grow. It was with great pride that he looked on all he was creating, and at the same time, humbling too. This was his responsibility now, all these lives under him. It put a great weight on his shoulders, a weight he rather enjoyed carrying.  
The table set in the middle of the room had a built-in magic map feature that created what Muggles would no doubt have called a "hologram". They used it to bring up ideas, strategic points, and anything else they wanted to look at. Seated on the north end of the table, furthest from the door, Harry sat, now dressed in a white shirt with a black vest over it, with a jester's hat (complete with skull tips) on the right breast. He was currently sitting with his right foot over his left knee, looking about the room. The lightning-bolt shaped scar on his face had strangely grown in the past few days, almost like it fed off the evil in his soul. It now reached the top of his nose, and looked more like a sword wound than a lightning bolt. Cho had once jokingly told him that if it kept growing, it would split his face in half. It actually did look like someone was slowly cleaving his head in two, using very sharp, invisible scalpels to carve his face. Harry thought it was entertaining to have such a disjointed look, and refused Cho's offers to try and fix the scar. It was an old friend of his, and he intended to keep it, no matter how long it got.  
Seated to his right, Seamus Finnigan sat, wearing his usual black armor. Today, however, he wore a brand new chain about his neck, with a crystal ball dangling on the end. Inside it were two things, floating around. At first Harry couldn't figure out what they were, then saw that two human eyeballs (one brown, one green) were magically floating in the crystal ball. Harry thought it strange, but wasn't going to comment on it. It wasn't like he had room to talk; he was the Jester, for heaven's sake, and wearing eyeballs was pretty tame compared to that.  
Across from Seamus, Ginny sat, her wings folded about her like a modest cloak. She'd already displayed her new head roll to everyone, causing both Harry and Neville to break out in laughter, and causing everyone else to either be shocked (Cho, for instance) or bemused (Seamus, who'd seen it before). Padma had merely raised an eyebrow, utterly royal even in her confusion. Ginny's head was currently in the right position, and she was chatting with Seamus about protecting the Boneyards. She talked with her hands, a habit from before her undeath, one of the last traces of the girl she had been. They danced in the air, pale ivory and wicked nails, like corrupt birds in flight.  
Past her, waiting with all the grace and calm of the Queen she was, Padma Patil sat, her red hair streaming down her shoulders. The Orb of Earth, glowing contentedly, sat on her wrist. She waited patiently, her green eyes patient. She was a figure of majesty, almost (in her own way) like the Snow Lady Hermione. But there was a difference there, a difference very subtle but just as fundamental despite that. It could not be explained, except that maybe Hermione shone with a brighter, purer majesty, while Padma's majesty came from the dark. Her dragon guardians gone, Padma sat in her green robes, hands in a steeple in front of her chest.  
Across from her, cracking his knuckles, Neville Longbottom, newly returned from Lunas, sat waiting impatiently, an exact opposite of regal, patient Padma. The Orb of Water, wrapped in eternal silent torment, pulsed on his forehead, thin veins covering it. Neville had changed during his trip, looking more and more like a bodybuilder who'd escaped his gym. His muscles rippled under the midnight blue suit he wore, and the long cape trailing from his shoulders shifted as he moved about impatiently. He had the status reports from Lunas, and was eager to get them out and over with.  
At the end of the table, the final member of the Ebony Flame, Cho Chang sat with her hands in her lap, waiting for her lover to call the meeting. She was resplendent in a beautiful rose red dress, the kind favored by old English royalty. Demure and lovely (a complete turn-around from her usual lustful self), she sat quietly, waiting with new figures for the Census and the latest reports from the smithies.  
His informal survey complete, Harry tapped a small bell on his side of the table, producing a slight ringing sound. At this almost soundless cue, everyone looked at him. Harry cleared his throat and began the meeting.  
" Time to get started. New developments on the war front first. General Finnigan"  
Seamus shuffled some of the paper in front of him, looking for one sheet in particular. The eyeballs rolled in the crystal ball, and for one moment Harry thought he could see a face in the brown one, a stern face that reminded him of Seamus somehow. But before he could ask, Seamus found the paper he was looking for and began.  
" Okay. Good news first. The Ministry Military is starting to come apart at the seams. The Beastkeepers left after Walter Andrews was thrown into jail, and they've apparently moved north, to Durmstrang and our old friends, the White Shore." Seamus chuckled, shuffling some more papers. " The Ministry has closed off talks with the White Shore. Alexander Ceras has done more than get rid of part of the Ministry army for us; the crazy bastard managed to remove the alliance between them and Ron's group." Looking down at the paper, he continued on, saying, " Let's see... we managed to insert two spies into the Ministry, one an Earth Elementalist turned cockroach who snuck into the Wizengamot to spy, the other a Marauder who happened to steal an Invisibility cloak from Gringott's before we left. She's in the Muggle section, per your orders. The cockroach guy just sent in his first reports, and something very unusual has happened. He says that a big fat guy, who called himself Pettan Grew, came into the Wizengamot about three days ago. Started talking about an American Wizarding organization, a group called Coyote. Said he was it's representative, that they had heard of the crisis over here and wanted to aid the Ministry. The cockroach guy threw in additional reports on known American groups, both Muggle and Wizard- scratch a spy, uncover an overacheiver- and the only group called Coyote in the U.S. that he can find is a prostitute organization. And I very seriously doubt that they know or care what's going on here"  
" Hmm," Harry said, stroking his chin, " very interesting. So, if his information is reliable"  
" It is," Seamus assured him.  
" Then who are they really? If our spy can do it, then surely the Ministry can figure out that they aren't really American Wizards come over the Big Pond to help out their English brethren. So why bother making up a lie that can be disproven so easily"  
Seamus waved his finger at Harry, and said, " Our spy checked out known groups. There are many organizations we don't know about here in England, much less America. Plus, do you really think the Ministry will care? Coyote is offering troops to them, and since the alliance with the White Shore just fizzled out, they're more than happy to receive any help they can get"  
Neville raised his finger, indicating he wanted to talk. When Harry turned to him, Neville said, " So, if Coyote really isn't American Wizards, then who here in Europe would want an alliance with the Ministry, but go to the cover of hiding themselves? Who"  
" That's what I ordered Mr. Cockroach to look up," Seamus said, shuffling his papers again. " He left the Wizengamot yesterday, about 3:00, to follow Pettan Grew around." Noticing Harry's frown, he said, " What is it, Harry"  
" Something about that name," Harry said, tapping his chin. " Something very familiar." He waved his hand, as if to clear the air, and said, " Just keep going on. It'll come to me, I'm sure." Muttering almost to himself, Harry said, " Pettan Grew... why is that so familiar"  
" Well," Seamus said, looking at his papers, " the last thing is our military strength. We have about ten thousand troops here in Oceania, with about six thousand of them veterans of some sort. In Lunas, we have eight thousand, with only three thousand of them veterans, mostly ones who stayed after the battle for Beauxbatons. We reckon current Ministry strength at forty thousand, White Shore strength at sixteen thousand, and we have no idea how many troops Voldemort has. Thankfully, we won't be seeing a real concerted effort from either the Ministry or the White Shore very soon. I personally suggest we deal with the Ministry now, while they're still reeling from the Beastkeeper scandal"  
" I agree," Harry said, not realizing that the White Shore was about to give them a helping hand in this matter. " Once they're dealt with, we can move on the rest of them. How many Ministry soldiers are in England"  
" About twenty-five thousand, most of them around London"  
" Hmm... any small detachments we can strike"  
" That's my department," Neville said, cracking his knuckles. " I found out from some very informed sources that three thousand Ministry troops are arriving onto England's shores from Spain on the eighteenth of this month. I don't have total control over this Orb in my head yet," he grinned here, and the Orb flashed as Neville focused his power on it, " but I think I can arrange for a very, very warm welcoming commitee"  
" I will help you," Padma said, the Orb on her wrist flashing as well. " We must use our powers as much as possible, to avoid losing any Wizard lives"  
" Agreed," Neville said. " Too bad there are other types of magic. If Elemental was the only kind, we'd rule the whole damn world, just with these Orbs"  
" But as it stands," Ginny said, tapping her finger on the table, " there are many forms of magic, Elemental just one of them. But Padma is right. You two need to abuse your power as much as possible if we're going to win this war"  
" Indeed," Neville said. " Speaking of abuse... Seamus, what in the hell do you have around your neck? I think it's two eyeballs in a crystal, so please tell me I'm wrong"  
" Sorry, Neville," Seamus said, a slight grin touching his lips, " but it really is two eyeballs in a crystal. An old vengeance I had to take out on some previous acquaintances"  
And that was the end of the matter, for no one ever asked for more information (though Seamus wore them until the final opponent to Harry's rule in the world was slain), and Ginny never told anyone what she had seen.  
Secrets.  
" And I thought Ginny was morbid," Neville said, chuckling. His chuckles sounded like water gurgling in a well, a very strange sound to hear out of someone's throat.  
" I'm not morbid," Ginny said primly, sticking her nose in the air, " just dead. There's a difference, you know"  
" Quite," Neville said. " Being dead gives you a reason to be morbid"  
Harry and him chuckled at this, and when they stopped, Padma raised her finger. " I have a question"  
" Yes?" Harry said.  
" Have you considered the problems of marriage, funerals, law systems, and things of that nature? We are creating a new culture here, and the loose rules we once had will no longer work with the influx of immigrants. We must hurry and do something, or lose control of it forever"  
Harry thought for a moment, caught off-guard. That wasn't something he'd ever thought about. What in the bloody hell was he going to do for marriage? And as for death ceremonies, various law systems.  
Cho saved him. She raised her finger, immaculate painted nail pointed upwards (fake; she would have clawed Harry to death during her favorite contact sport if they were real), and said, " I have an idea"  
" What?" Harry asked.  
" To marry, the couple must talk to someone you've ordained- let's call them Arbiters, for now- and ask the Arbiter to marry them. If it can be proven that they're loyal, tax-paying subjects- and that brings up another point we'll talk about in a minute- then they get married. Simple as that. It assures that those seeking marriage will be loyal to you, and it doesn't make you a monster whose approval is required for everything. That should solve the problem"  
" Interesting," Harry said. " And these Arbiters could also serve as funeral masters, judges, and anything else I may require. But about laws... isn't law something of a moot point? We are monsters, Padma, the damned. And we are damned because we don't follow laws"  
" That's not quite true," Ginny said, " Even demons follow certain laws. We are damned because we don't follow Good, not because we don't follow laws. Evil always loses to Good in the end, and maybe this is why. Because no one understands that law and justice and honor, that those supposedly holy things, are not the sole property of Good. Maybe if we can bring those things here, make black versions of them..." She paused for a moment, thinking. Completely unaware that she was about to say what would become the opening sentences in Harry's new Writ of Law, and by that act become the Lord Arbiter of the Jester's Kingdom, she said, " Law is necessary for life to continue. Regardless of whether that life follows Good or Evil, regardless of whether they walk in light or laugh in dark, law is necessary for life. The same is true of honor. If one is honorable to others, and if those others are honorable in return, then trust will form. And where trust exists, cooperation begins. And that is the cornerstone of this world." She looked up, at Seamus, and said, " You yourself know about honor, Seamus. We all do. By the laws of nature we should be trying to backstab one another. But we aren't, and never will. You're my friends. I would die again for any of you, as you would do for me. Unspoken laws exist between us, and honor binds us to all of them. These are laws we must write for our new world, for the world of night we wish to make"  
Aware that something fundamental had just happened, that what had just been said was important, Neville said, " We'd best get cracking then. Laws... what shall they be"  
They began talking excitedly, rapidly, as ideas sprang and blossomed in their minds. And on that day, in that room, they wrote the Writ of Law, establishing the obsidian base from which their dark utopia would grow. It was a dark day for Good on that world.  
Laughter in the darkness.

THIS IS THE WRIT OF LAW ESTABLISHING THE LAWS AND PRECEPTS BY WHICH THE JESTER KING, HARRY POTTER,  
AND ALL WHO SERVE HIM SHALL LIVE BY, AND HONOR.  
IT IS KNOWN, THAT IN THIS WORLD, THIS IS TRUTH:  
LAW IS NECESSARY FOR LIFE TO CONTINUE. REGARDLESS OF WHETHER THAT LIFE FOLLOWS GOOD OR EVIL, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER THEY WALK IN LIGHT OR LAUGH IN DARK, LAW IS NECESSARY FOR LIFE. THE SAME IS TRUE OF HONOR. IF ONE IS HONORABLE TO OTHERS, AND IF THOSE OTHERS ARE HONORABLE IN RETURN, THEN TRUST WILL FORM. AND WHERE TRUST EXISTS, COOPERATION BEGINS. AND THAT IS THE CORNERSTONE OF THIS WORLD.  
THE LAW, FROM THIS DAY FORTH, IS SET THUS:  
THE LAW OF THE JESTER KING IS SUPREME, SURPASSING ALL OTHER LAWS.  
THE ARBITERS, AS APPOINTED BY THE JESTER KING, BOTH INTERPRET AND ENFORCE HIS LAWS.  
NO PROMISE SHALL EVER BE MADE, EVEN BY THE JESTER KING HIMSELF, THAT WILL HENCEFORTH BE BROKEN.  
PROMISES SHALL NOT BE GIVEN FREELY.  
HONOR OTHERS AS THEY HONOR YOU. GIVE FREEDOM TO OTHERS AND MOCK THEM NOT.  
GIVE AID TO OTHERS OF THE BLACK TIDE, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER YOU KNOW THEM OR NOT. ALL WITHIN THE TIDE MUST STAND TOGETHER, OR DIE APART.  
KNOW THAT WE ARE EVIL, AND YET EVEN IN SHADOWS, HONOR LIVES. BIND YOURSELF TO YOUR HONOR.  
TAKE NOT THE LIVES OF OTHERS WITHIN THE TIDE. THOSE OUTSIDE IT MATTER NOT, AND YOU MAY SLAY THEM AS YOU WILL; BUT THOSE OF THE TIDE ARE UNTOUCHABLE.  
TAKE NOT THE PROPERTY OF OTHERS WITHIN THE TIDE. THOSE OUTSIDE IT MATTER NOT, AND YOU MAY TAKE FROM THEM WHATEVER YOU WILL THAT MAY BE GATHERED BY YOUR OWN POWER; BUT THE PROPERTY OF THOSE IN THE TIDE IS THEIRS ALONE.  
RAPE, PERFORMED ON A FELLOW MEMBER OF THE TIDE, IS FORBIDDEN; THE BODY IS THE PROPERTY OF EACH INDIVIDUAL, GIVEN AND TAKEN BY THEIR WILL ALONE.  
TRUST IN EACH OTHER, AND RETURN ALL TRUST GIVEN TO YOU.  
THESE LAWS ARE THE BEGINNING. THEY ARE THE FIRST, AND NOT THE LAST. NO LAW IS REPEALED UNTIL SPECIFICALLY STATED BY THE JESTER KING AS BEING SO. LAWS SUBSEQUENTLY ADDED HAVE ALL THE STRENGTH OF OLDER LAWS, AND WILL BE ENFORCED.  
THOSE GUILTY OF BETRAYING TRUST IN OTHERS, OF BREAKING PROMISES, OR VIOLATING ANY LAW ABOVE, SHALL BE SENTENCED AS JUDGED BY THE ARBITERS.  
HOLD TO THESE LAWS AS YOU HOLD TO LIFE.

BY ORDER OF THE JESTER KING,  
HARRY POTTER

-Next chapter: the Ministry attacks the White Shore! 


	25. Death of Cowards

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY PROFITS THEREOF, NOR AM I MAKING ANY PROFITS OFF THIS WORK.  
- Indicates thought.  
- indicates telepathy/italics/foreign language.

Allright. This is the last time I'm going to say this. I've gotten several reviews and even more e-mails that have driven me mad on this issue, so to clear it up once and for all:  
I AM MALE!

People! If you couldn't tell from the million and one rants I have fired off in these pages (you guys happen to be my sounding board, for some reason), I am a male. Someone wrote, " My dear lady", in their review, and... AARGGGH! (pulls hair out in frustration) I am a man! A male! M-A-L-E!  
(sighs) Okay, with that out of the way, here's a quick shout-out to all my reviewers. This fanfic has become so enormous, and the reviews so many, that I can no longer write individual thank-yous. I will try to answer your questions, however.  
One more thing. I THINK the name of the Order member who is rather "shady" is Daedalus Diggle. If it's not, tell me in a review who it is. I no longer own the fifth Harry Potter book, so I can't really check it. That, and your friendly author has been sick with a stomach virus (holds gut, moans pitifully) so my brain isn't working all that well.  
I know this chapter isn't very long, but it's a set-up for the next few chapters. Don't worry, my friends- your hunger for darkness will be sated, and soon.  
Here we go, ladies and gentleman. With my dying breath, I declare that it is now...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 20 Death of Cowards

Near Durmstrang, undisclosed location in Greenland. July 16th. 2:00 p.m.  
There are few sayings (among the million witticisms, anecdotes, and quotes that permeate human history) which sum up true things, which were true when they were spoken and will be true until the end of time. One such saying sums up the value of courage in one poignant sentence: " Cowards die many times before the final death; the truly brave taste of death but once." A true saying, one proven by the lives and deaths of millions throughout history.  
Daedalus Diggle, a coward of a man, was just about to prove the saying all over again. From his position in the relative safety of the convoy's middle, he hoped fervently that if things went wrong, he could remember his way back across these frozen wastes. A blizzard had been blowing for the past hour, and Daedulus had lost track of their current position long ago. The snow wiped out their tracks almost as soon as they were made, and it turned all the world into a vast whiteness. Daedulus could barely see the soldiers in front of him, and after fifteen feet, lost his visibility completely. Snow was a complex substance, and it required special training to see through it. Leading this armored division, a group of Snow Hawks- the Ministry special forces whose job it was to work in snow and tundra conditions- led the way, their specialized sight piercing the snow. The rest of the group was reduced to blindly playing follow the leader.  
This made Daedalus even more nervous than he usually was. A longtime dealer in shady ventures, he was a man whose major plan of action in any engagement was "run like hell". At times, variations like " use someone as a human shield" or "backstab then run" were added, but running was the basic idea. He was a snivelling man, and more and more was coming to regret his initial decision to lead an early-strike force against the White Shore. What had made him come up with the idea in the first place? Maybe it was just his habit of backstabbing his friends and allies alike whenever the opportunity presented itself.  
Two days ago, almost at the same time the Writ of Law was being written in Oceania, Daedalus had conceived of what had then seemed a bold, daring plan. The White Shore had broken off from it's alliance with the Ministry. So it was obvious they were going to be no help in future military battles, and once the war was over, they would probably become a government all their own if not stopped. So, why not crush them now? With all the Beastkeeper problems and such, it would be a good morale and public opinion raiser to finish off the White Shore. Using his contacts in the Ministry, he'd whipped up government support for the attack, and been granted nine thousand troops. The White Shore had about sixteen thousand troops, but they were kids. Hell, it wouldn't be that hard to beat them, would it? Give them a spanking and send them home. Simple.  
But, for the past few miles, dread had been eating at his heart. Something was wrong... he could feel it. Having lived his life on a razor edge for years, Daedalus had a mongrel dog's acute sense for trouble. It had saved his life more often than not, and he'd learned to trust it.  
If he could just slip away and get back to the boats.  
Ahead of him, the soldiers stopped. He stopped as well, and over the howling wind he heard some of them murmuring, wondering what the hold up was. Daedalus clutched his knife and drew back. His sense of danger was on red alert.  
He had to get out of here.

Front of the convoy. Same time.  
Robin Cassan, using the special sight he'd trained for, viewed the surrounding area. Except for the two kids before him, he saw no one.  
He returned his gaze to them, his eyes glowing white with the power that effectively cut the snow out of his sight. He wondered if it scared these kids in front of him. In his own mind, he thought the kids saw him as a towering figure, a scary giant with glowing eyes. He smiled underneath his fur-padded mask at the image. Oh yeah. This was going to be an easy mission, all right.  
The two soldiers before him found him neither mystical nor mighty, just an annoyance. And a harbinger of worse things.  
" This is White Shore territory," one of them said, and despite the scarf wrapped around the bottom of her face and the wind shrieking around them, her voice was loud and clear. " You are trespassing. Leave now"  
" Listen," Robin said, feeling magnaminous, " you kids have no idea what you're doing. Now, I'll let you two surrender peacefully and we'll forget this whole thing." Spreading his arms in an attempt to show how kind he was being, he said, " You can all go home"  
" Idiot," the soldier said, disgust clear in her voice, " this is home. I want no part of the foul Ministry. Last warning. Leave now or die here"  
Rage twisting his mouth into a snarl at the rejection of his kind (or so he thought) offer, he said, " Like you two can stop us. Men! Kill"  
A knife, pulled and thrown with an expert's ease, buried itself in his throat. Robin gasped, choking, blood dripping out of the edges separating his esophagus. The soldier who'd thrown the dagger stepped forward.  
" Actually, we can," she said calmly. In front of her, the other Snow Hawks gaped dumbly at their fallen commander. " And we shall"  
Her voice rose in song, not lifting above the winds but seeming to become part of them. Snow swirled about the two guards, obscuring them even from the sight of the Snow Hawks. When it cleared, they were gone.  
And the wolves were upon them.

Ministry's Convoy, near Durmstrang. Same time.  
The song the White Shore's guard sung was the cue that set the very dogs of war loose upon the Ministry. It was the death song of the nine thousand, as it were.  
Wolves came in like mists, and went back just as fast. To the bewildered, completely off-guard soldiers, they seemed likeghosts, silent as sin and just as deadly. Teeth flashed. Claws rent. Before the men even knew what had happened, the soldiers were dead and the wolves were gone.  
Within the first fifteen minutes, all the Snow Hawks were dead.  
Within the first half hour, over a thousand had died.  
And it was just the beginning.

The Beastkeepers had come to the White Shore expecting nothing. These teenagers who had saved their leader, who had invited one and all to join them in the north, seemed to demand the expectation of nothingness, were such a new thing that to expect anything at all would have been the most horrible of presumptions. The one thing they had expected was a better deal- not an equal deal, no, they'd learned enough to know that they'd never have that- but a better deal, nonetheless.  
And they had received so much more.  
When the White Shore had broken from the Ministry, the act had surprised them more than anyone else. They'd always expected to become part of the Ministry again, as soon as Harry Potter was killed. And yet the new values that they'd been building into themselves (completely unaware they were doing so), values won from hard days of labor and battle, had cried out against the Ministry, all it's petty little hates and injustices. The honor, nobility, and beauty of life in the harsh north had changed them. They'd determined to make something better of themselves, to do what no one, Wizard or Muggle, had ever done before.  
They sought to become a society of the truly equal.  
When the Beastkeepers arrived, they were treated as no different from any White Shore member. Not a vestige of residual hatred had greeted them. In matters of housing, food, lodging, everything- equality, blessed equality. To the Beastkeepers, it was a dream come true.  
And so, when the White Shore asked for help to guard their new home, the Beastkeepers had went above and beyond the call of duty. They took it on themselves to guard Durmstrang, by themselves. They refused to let ordinary White Shore members help- this was the least they could do, to repay them for their kindness.  
And so it was that a pack of hundreds of dire wolves attacked the convoy. In terms of numbers and power, the convoy had a far greater advantage; but that didn't matter. After all, the wolves were just there to harass them.  
It was the wastes of snow and ice that were the real killers here.

An hour and a half later. Somewhere in the frozen wastes of Greenland.  
The men staggered on, their energy gone. Most of them were bleeding from one wound or the other. They no longer noticed. Each man blindly followed the one in front of him, shambling onward like mindless drones. Men fell, struggled to move, shivered, died. Wolves came, as they always did. Mouths open, eyes gleaming with a feral intelligence. Sergeants too weary to shout commands died under their gleaming teeth, thankful for the deliverance of a quick death. Some men fought them. Many no longer cared. Death, any death, was better than this hellish wandering. With the Snow Hawks gone, the men had no sense of direction, no clear idea of where to go. If they knew of where they'd wandered, they would have succumbed to madness. In their round-about wandering, fighting the wolves and the cold, they'd traveled north and not south. They were now on a straight course towards the North Pole.  
Daedalus, body torn on the arms and legs where wolves had bit him, gazed at the ruin about him. The blizzard had eased up some, perhaps to mock the men by showing what a vast wasteland lay all about them. He saw dead Ministry soldiers, with their accompanying equipment, everywhere. An overturned wagon there, a dead horse here. So much death.  
A wolf howl cut through his thoughts, and he clutched at his bloodied dagger, eyes wide with fear. The wolves. By all the gods, how he hated them. They tormented and harassed, and mocked with those eyes.  
He shivered, his rent clothes losing their magic, the protective warmth beginning to dissappear. He felt tears in his eyes. No. It could not end like this. Not in some godforsaken land, killed by a bunch of kids and their pet wolves.  
" Come out and fight me!" he cried to the winds, shouting and crying at the same time. His eyes were squeezed shut, as all the force of his coward's anguish emitted out from him. " Fight me like a man! Don't just let your wolf pets do the killing for you! Come and fight me"  
His false bravado screeched to the winds, he turned around, to continue following the soldier he'd been behind. But when he looked, he saw no one. In fact, the blizzard had grown so bad in the short time he'd had his eyes closed that he could see nothing at all.  
From behind him he heard growling. He turned around, knife at the ready, more scared now than he'd ever been in his life. A wolf stepped out of the snow. Soon another came with it. And another. Daedalus glanced around frantically, praying for a way out. There was none.  
When the wolves descended on him, he died for the last time, throat ripped out. His body fell to the ground, and his head lolled to the side, dead eyes gazing out on an endless plain of snow. Soon, their view was obscured by the drifts of snow.

White Shore War Room, Durmstrang. Same time.  
Walter Andrews nodded to the envoy, who snapped off a proud salute before leaving. He turned towards Ron and Hermione, face grim.  
" And so it begins," he said.  
" Indeed it does," Hermione said, shaking her noble head. " Indeed it does"  
Ron, looking every bit the Old Grim his soldiers called him, said, " Nine thousand... they're not beating around the bush"  
" What are we going to do?" Hermione said, looking at him. " We can't fight both the Ministry and Harry. What are we going to do"  
" All we can do," Ron said, touching the pommel of Godric Gryffindor's sword. " We fight."

- See you guys next chapter. Read and review please, and remember: I'm MALE! 


	26. When All Things Are Said and Done

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
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Well, people, here we are again. Thankfully, everyone has figured out my essential male-ness... Hope that never happens again. (wipes sweat off forehead)  
And to everyone- I don't know where Durmstrang is, because as far as I can recall, they never explained it in the books. The schools don't like for anyone to know where they're at, remember? And I have been stating that Durmstrang is in Greenland this whole fanfic, so I'll just stick with that. And about Daedalus- I thought he wasn't the shady guy, but couldn't remember who it really was. Thanks for all the help in reviews, guys.  
On the reviews:  
One note to a reviewer said I got "bodybuilder escaped from his gym" from FF3 (or 6, in Japan). Yep, I did. Kudos, my friend. FF3 was the best Final Fantasy game, and IMHO, is the second best game ever. Wild ARMS 3 still has it beat, though. See if you can find another FF3 reference. I'll be doing this in every chapter I can, now that I've seen how fun it is; try and guess which game/anime/book/move I'm referring to. Be warned, I have very different tastes, so they'll be very wide-ranging.  
Someone else wrote a REALLY good scene, but alas, it doesn't fit with the storyline. I have almost the entire storyline planned out, and that doesn't go with it. However, it did give me an idea for a scene that would fit. So, to the person who wrote the Harry Potter sword scene, the Ron scene is for you. You should write fanfics- that was a great idea you wrote down.  
I know last chapter was short, but it was mostly prelude to this. So, I won't waste any more of your precious time, save to say "THANK YOU!" to all my reviewers. So now it's...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 21 When All Things are Said and Done

Durmstrang, undisclosed location in Greenland. July 17th. 4:00 p.m.  
Hermione looked over the crowd, from where she stood beside Ron on the podium, and a small, unlooked for smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. So. This was the army she would fashion into a force for Good. It was either funny or sad, depending on your viewpoint. The idea that Harry probably found it funny killed her humor. Just as he had killed most of her mirth long ago. Beside her, Ron squeezed her hand for comfort, and she willingly took it. She needed all the courage she could muster, for what she must say. He'd asked her if she wanted him to do it, but she'd refused. She had become their leader, the figure that above all represented what they fought for. And so it was fit and right that she lead them now, that these words should be hers.  
She turned to face the crowd, casting the spell that would give her the voice of a giant. With one last deep breath to steady herself, she began to speak.  
" My friends and fellow soldiers," Hermione began, looking over the crowd, trying to see with both her eye and her mind each individual person, each unique soul, " much has happened since the fall of Hogwarts. Much has happened since we fled what was once our home and came here to Durmstrang. We never expected to remain apart from the Ministry. We always thought that we were a symbol, a kind of standing ground, from which all the things our enemy hates and despises would flow from, a place for the best in Wizardkind. We always thought that the war would end soon, and once it was over and our purpose was served, we would dissolve and go back to our old lives in the Ministry. That is what we always believed"  
" But, times have changed. We have changed. Our old selves were stripped from us by the cold and the snow of our new home, washed away, and these changeling, amorphous selves, like molten steel, were burned anew in battle. We have been reforged into something better than we were. And now that we glance back, at what once seemed a symbol of greatness, we see the flaws we ourselves once had. The Ministry is better than Harry Potter and his monstrous Tide. But in a way, they are worse. Because even Harry realizes that equality has it's benefits. Even he sees what good is in it. He has taken it and twisted it, broken and changed a beautiful thing... but he still ends up with something better than what the Ministry has. They dominate and rule and crush all who are weaker than they are... and they damn and mock that which is not. The Beastkeepers that we have taken in know this better than we, know it from long days and nights living under fear of the sword and the whip. This is the Ministry's true self, it's inner soul. A soul that fights Harry not out of any sense of the good and pure in this world... but because it fears him, fears him for his strength"  
Her gaze swept over them all, watching as each began to realize, in their own way, what she was saying, what it might mean for them all, and she continued onward, " It is the same reason they attacked us yesterday." Gasps and cries from the crowds- with the exception of the Beastkeeper guards, no one had known about the attack from the Ministry. " Nine thousand soldiers landed on our shores yesterday, around 1:00 p.m. The guards asked them to leave, and they refused. The Beastkeeper guards slew them in the frozen wastes, but there will be more. And more. And more." She looked around at the uniformly shocked and mortified room, and continued on. " I will not demand that any of you stay with me. I will do no more than ask, because to do more is to stretch beyond the kindness of Good and enter the cruelties of Evil. And above all, we must not become what we fight." She looked over them all and raised her gaze upwards, where somewhere above the whirling white sky beyond this room, the stars that mankind have always dreamed upon shone in the endless dark, small lights of hope. She closed her eyes and spoke, and her next words would always ring out in some small portion of the minds of all those gathered here. " I will not pretend the road will not be hard. I will not tell you that we shall succeed, because we may very well fail here and now. But I can tell you this. If we stand, and if we fight, we shall know something greater, become something greater, and in that black field where all humanity stands singing and shouting in the rain, our singing will be heard above all. And now I ask of you this. Will you stand with me"  
The roar of the crowd below, a strong vote in the affirmative, the war cry of thousands, met her ears and blackened vision. Two tears, of both joy and sorrow, leaked out of her closed eyelids as she gazed blindly upwards. Despite the fact that her eyes were closed, despite the fact that all she could see was darkness, she imagined the look on Ron's face, Old Grim that he was, gazing over his troops and smiling his bittersweet smile. And maybe, just maybe, in the darkness behind her closed eyelids she saw a light. A bright light, of peace and honor and hope.  
Ron turned to face her, and opened his mouth to speak when he caught sight of her in a mirror that lay past her in the great hall. He never told anyone he saw it, and questioned his own recollection of it later until he was certain he'd only imagined it. But sometimes, he wondered.  
In a mirror that was angled to reflect whoever was on the podium of the great meeting room, Ron saw Hermione. It was raining in the mirror, a hard driving rain that almost seemed alive, sentient in it's want and need to wash all things away. And the rain did not touch her flesh in the mirror.

Jester's Keep, Oceania. Same time.  
Harry Potter walked the halls of his castle, rubbing his chin as he pondered over the recent events in his kingdom. Ever since announcing the Writ of Law, some things had happened in his kingdom, things both expected and things that caught him completely off-guard. He ran through them in his head, analyzing each one in a mental checklist.  
After the Writ of Law had first been announced, with Ginny's subsequent appointment as Head Arbiter (she'd been rather shocked at receiving the honor, and had responded more like the girl she had been than the Necromancer she now was, hands flapping around as she tried to think of something to say), several hundred people had come forward to try and become Arbiters. Ginny and Harry had done the annointing, eventually electing three hundred Arbiters for Oceania alone. Using the Portkeys to travel to Lunas, he'd empowered Fleur to elect Arbiters for the mainland Europe portions of the Tide. Back home, he'd empowered Cameron, now mayor of a bustling town, to elect Arbiters for the two other cities in England. And cities is what they were; compared to Muggles, there were almost no Wizards in the world, and so far smaller numbers sufficed to classify a place as a city. The last Wizard Census, which had tried to identify how many Wizards lived in the world, had declared that there were only one hundred million Wizards in the world, compared to six billion Muggles. The report had been completed two years ago, and had shocking implications to the idea of a war with Muggles. Of the hundred million Wizards, five million lived in England, with fifteen million in mainland europe. So few. So very few.  
Of course, Wizards made up for it with magic and politics. When half the world's leaders were constantly being Memory Charmed, coerced, or were simply Wizards themselves, it was easy to hide. Two-thirds of the British Parliament, both Houses, were Wizards, and the Prime Minister was easily magicked. And the Royal Family had been made up of Wizards for ages.  
Harry ran his finger up and down his lengthening scar as he walked. He had no intention of entering the Muggle world and taking it over by force. Why bother? It was so much easier to rule from behind the scenes. He smiled, wondering what he could do with a million puppet governments under his command. It would be so much fun.  
He'd had some problems putting his laws into effect, though. As a general rule, madmen and lunatics hate to be ordered around, and so most of the last two days had been devoted to killing the disgruntled souls who violently protested the law. One particular fruitcake had been a serial killer named Willington Normes who, in his best Jack the Ripper impersonation, had slaughtered four people with very sharp knives before the Arbiters had gotten to him. The funerals, something Ginny was cooking up in her office at the moment (which was where Harry was headed, for that matter) were being held today. Other killers and nuts, not wanting to follow the law of even such a monster as Harry, had decided to attack others as well. Many were killed in the streets. Everybody in the Tide went armed, so it was a bit harder to freely slaughter them, though people like Willington figured out a few ways to do it.  
All in all, two hundred people were killed in the entirety of the Tide, counting the fifty-man resistance movement in mainland Europe that Sec. Gen. Vicks put down. More than Harry had hoped for, but less than he'd feared, so it all came out okay.  
He stopped as he passed in front of a mirror, looking at himself. He was wearing his favorite black vest and cloak, much like the one he'd worn to the meeting two days ago. Looking himself over as one last check-up, he was about to continue walking down the hall and enter Ginny's new office when he heard something.  
" I will not pretend the road will not be hard. I will not tell you that we shall succeed, because we may very well fail here and now. But I can tell you this. If we stand, and if we fight, we shall know something greater, become something greater, and in that black field where all humanity stands singing and shouting in the rain, our singing will be heard above all. And now I ask of you this. Will you stand with me"  
A great roar, as of many thousands, followed this statement. A roar for yes. A roar that agreed, in it's many-tongued voice, to make a stand. A roar that was, in it's own way, much -like singing.  
Harry turned his face back towards the mirror, a small smile playing at the corners of his face. Was it beginning? Was it really, truly starting, here and now? Was this prelude over, was the true war about to begin?  
In the mirror, he saw himself, as we all do when we glance in a mirror. But he saw more. As a lord of the dark, as a monster within a dream, Harry knew some things instinctively. Saw some things, as well.  
And what he saw now was his form, caught in a soaking rain. But it didn't touch his human form; rather, it fell and ran down the outline of a Jester, of a demon with a mask, of a laughing, prancing, clawed form. The rain touched it and became it; became that mocking figure of darkness. Harry's smile became a lunatic grin as he saw what was in the mirror. So much of the world he did not understand. But this, this he understood.  
He looked towards the north, grin still on his lips. He raised his hand, and with the echo of the Jester in his voice said, " Well met, Hermione"  
His laughter rang throughout the castle.

Voldemort's Fortress, undisclosed location in England. Same time.  
Voldemort looked up from where he sat, fingers rubbing his temples as they were so wont to do, his breath hanging in his throat like a dead man in a hangman's noose. He was hearing something... something like the patter of rain.  
He stood up, and his eyes were a reflection of the emotion within him, wide mirrors into the almost delirious fear in his black soul. He'd heard that sound only twice before. And both times, he'd known that it was for him. But now, for some reason only his dumb senses could fathom, he was afraid. Afraid of what the mirror would tell him. For that's the way it always went, wasn't it? A mirror would tell. Mirrors, those simple pieces of glass that broke the bonds and bounds of this pitiful dream and nightmare we call reality to see beyond.  
Voldemort sighed as he walked over to the full-length mirror in his study. He was old, and he knew many things, including what a mirror really was. It reflected the current you, yes, but it was also a gateway. A gateway... or maybe just a window. Yes, that was more accurate. A window on the Mists.  
Voldemort stood in the front of the long mirror, his left shoulder turned towards it, his gaze firmly ahead. With another sigh, he turned to look. And he saw.  
A great plain. Multitudes upon multitudes, a host beyond thousands, so many that the greatest computers would only snap and break under the pressure of contemplating such a high number. Rain poured, poured throughout eternity, poured not as a gentle spring rain but a harsh, pounding thing, a thing almost living in it's virulency, as it tried to pound the multitude into submission. Some brave souls- though few! So few- turned their vulnerable faces to the sky and sang, sang their song of defiance and hope and honor. And the rain could not turn their faces, for it could not touch them. Others, so many more and yet so much less, writhed and screamed on the ground. And others- fewer than the writhing, almost as few as the brave- stood and smiled directly into the mirror, smiled while rain ran off shadow-demons behind them. Twice before, Voldemort had seen his face smiling back at him, with that reptile's grin. With a shock, he saw Harry Potter, his greatest nemesis, looking at him. His gaze swept the crowd, and despite the millions there, he saw a girl, a piece of snow white hair drifting before her face, singing and shouting into the rain. And on the ground near her, writhing and screaming in torment, not brave enough to stand and too weak to become, caught in torment for all eternity.  
No. He stepped back, closed his eyes, threw his left hand over his face. No. It couldn't be.  
But in his head, he knew it was true. For he had seen himself.

Wizengamot, Ministry of Magic, England. 8:00 p.m. that day.

Susannah Bones looked over the emissary from their new ally. A fat man, he called himself Pettan Grew, and his fat jowls shook as he talked. His bald head gleamed in the light of the Wizengamot's meeting room.  
" Minister," he said, bowing slightly to her, " Coyote sends it's deepest regrets for the loss of your men. We will supply as many more as we can. It is a sad thing, my lady, and our sorrow is with you"  
" Thank you," Susannah said, and the cold in her tightened as it laughed. Oh God. Nine thousand dead. Thankfully, this had been an unofficial, top-secret mission, so Alexander Ceras hadn't gotten wind of the news. Nine thousand dead. She shook her head. Almost a quarter of their military capability, gone. They'd underestimated them so much.  
As Pettan Grew began talking about the various troop movements and deliveries that would be heading to various Ministry encampments soon, he didn't notice the little cockroach that scurried up his back and settled on the collar of his cloak, where there was a little room to breathe. A dangerous job, being a cockroach. But so rewarding. All the things to learn and hear.  
A soldier soon burst in, dragging a young girl of sixteen with him. He threw her into the floor of the Wizengamot, and the slightly stunned Susannah recognized the soldier as Edgar Locke, her resident captain of the guard. Pettan Grew, who'd jumped at the intrusion, struggled to control his breathing, while on his neck collar, Cloud Johnson cursed internally. Damn Armitage! She'd gotten caught. As the only remaining spy in the Wizengamot still free, he huddled closer to Pettan Grew's collar, to hear the proceedings. Edgar began talking in a fast, breathless monotone.  
" We caught this spy lurking in the Muggle Studies department, Minister! She was snooping around in an Invisibility Cloak"  
On the floor, the blond girl coughed and struggled to stand up. The captain delivered a fierce boot to her head, rendering her almost unconscious. She lay on the floor, her breathing shallow, blood caking her hair.  
" What? Do you know where she's from? Shore, or Tide"  
" We're not for sure," Edgar said, teeth clenched as he remembered how he'd found the spy (she'd tripped him and stepped on him, making him look like a fool in front of his men, at least until he grabbed her, jerked the cloak off her, and revealed her to the world at large). " We think she's from the Shore, though. They were the last ones here"  
Cloud's cockroach antennae wiggled. Ooh, this could be useful. If they thought she was a White Shore spy, then they'd be more willing to fight the Shore than the Tide. This had potential... but he had to play it right. He wished he could send a mental message, but he could do nothing.  
" Lock her up in the dungeon," Susannah said, mouth twisted in a snarl. " We'll deal with her later"  
As Edgar Locke grabbed Armitage and hauled her up, Cloud slipped through the folds of Pettan's cloak to the floor, ran over the guard, and hitched a ride on his leg. Moving up to the guard's left shoulder, he glanced over at where Armitage rode shotgun on the guard's right shoulder, and let out a cockroach sigh. He hoped like hell he knew what he was doing.  
Because if he didn't, he would get them both in trouble.

Durmstrang, undisclosed location in Greenland. 10:00 p.m. that night.  
Ron took off his cloak and took off his sword, leaning it against the wall to wait for a minute while he dressed for sleep. He usually stayed up until long after midnight, for some reason never having nor needing the peace of sleep. There were stretches of days when he never slept at all, insomnia touching him with it's wide-awake presence. And then there would be nights he could barely stay awake at all. Like tonight. He yawned, shaking his red-haired head, and put on a loose fitting night shirt and pants. Stepping into his silk shoes, he picked up Godric Gryffindor's sword and carried it over to the bed he shared with Hermione. It wouldn't do to be without some sort of weapon in the night. Unlike Hermione, who seemed to be able to cast magic without a focus of any sort, Ron was a Channeler, requiring some sort of focus. He preferred the sword. He'd taken it from Hogwarts' Trophy Room, a seeming eternity ago when he had left Hogwarts with half the DA and Hermione by his side to take up residence in Durmstrang. He still remembered that wild nighttime run, the fear of being caught strong, the air running high with tense emotions, the thoughts that maybe Viktor Krum had decided to betray them all... and the relief they'd all felt when they had seen the great ship he had brought to whisk them all to safety. A great thing, a mighty ship that had appeared out of the waters of a lake, that long ago night. Krum's enormous influence in Durmstrang had been the one saving grace he'd had, and for it, Ron was thankful to him. The man had pulled all their asses out of the fire. He had died, in the battle for Beauxbatons, and his loss in the cause of the White Shore was one of the main reasons Durmstrang had become their new home permanently, as a sort of tribute to Krum. To his memory.  
Ron shuffled over to the bed. Hermione was in the bathroom, tidying up for bed, and so he was alone in the room. He sighed and put his sword down within easy reach, leaning it against the wall of the room. He laid down, ready to sleep, but felt something stop him. He turned around. And his eyes snapped open wide with surprise.  
The words on the sword were moving, shifting, before his eyes. Swimming on the sword's hilt like fish through a strange, molten sea. Godric Gryffindor's name swam out of focus, and for a second Ron thought he'd see Harry's swim into place instead. For some reason, fear of the bastard had suddenly stung him deep, deep in the heart. An overwhelming fear.  
One that brought his courage back. His sleepiness gone, he threw the covers of the bed back and grabbed the sword. Despite his fear, despite that weakness, this was his sword, and he would not be so weak as to be afraid of it, now or ever. And the instant he touched the handle, the fear in him lessened, diminished, dissappeared. It had never been there in the first place. The sword had tested him. Through the trappings of it's sheath, the sword seemed to glow with a white light, a pure light. The words swam into focus, appearing and solidifying in an instant. The words RON WEASLEY, looking as though they'd been there forever, stood on the sword. And Ron knew what he had to do.  
Walking quickly, almost running for fear of the magic running out, he threw open the doors leading onto the snow flecked patio outside their room, on the second floor of Durmstrang. He threw the sheath off Lyonheart (and the name of the sword, never mentioned or spoken of in Ron's hearing, sprang full-fledged into his mind in that instant) and lifted the sword high. And it gleamed, a white gleam that the storm saw and recognized, that the blizzard aided by lifting and making brighter and greater.  
It shone across the distances of time and space. Far away, having felt oddly tired and wanting to go to bed, Harry Potter looked out his window. Shining in the darkness, far away, was a single star. A small, slow smile played on his lips, and he walked to his window, threw it open. Leaned out and lifted his hand, and in the process became the Jester. His right claw, fingers up as if grasping the bottom of a chalice, shone in the darkness with it's own black light. Separated by miles in both geography and philosophy, Cho Chang and Hermione both gaped at the men they loved, stared at each other across the darkness of time and space as twin lights shone, opposites to each other. Soon, both lights diminished, at the same time, at the same rate. When at last Lyonheart's glow died to a small pulse, Ron bent over and picked up it's sheath. When it was sheathed, he turned to Hermione, and said, " It's starting. Everything's just been leading up to this"  
He turned and walked back into the room, sleep having fled him for the night. " Tell everyone to get ready," he said. " The real war begins now"  
Harry, smile turning to lunatic grin, turned to face Cho. " Yes," he said, drawing it out, hissing through his teeth as he closed his eyes to contemplate what had just occurred. " This is it. The beginning... of everything. All the pieces are in place. All the veils have been stripped away. Light has revealed it's pure nature. This world, and the good and evil in it, has become a force neither good nor evil, just worldly. And Darkness..." He smiled, and even Cho Chang, in that black and ruined thing she called a heart, felt a measure of fear in that demon's smile. " has awakened on this world. It is time"  
He did not fully understand all he had said, and wondered later where the knowledge had come from. But it mattered not.  
It was time.

-See you all next chapter! 


	27. Le Tresor Interdit

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS/TRADEMARKS THEREOF.  
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Hey everyone. Here's the next chapter. Nothing I've seen to comment on in the reviews, besides a late note to Trevor the Enchanter. In your review of Chapter 20, you stated that true equality is unreachable because "someone has to be leader", in your words. That is NOT the essence of true equality. Yes, there are positions in life, and every position has it's importance and rank. But each PERSON is of equal importance. What they do is not equal, but they themselves are. Likewise, equality means that everyone has a fair chance to improve their lot in life. Unlike communists/socialists/assorted liberals on the far left, I realize that you can't have a society where everyone is paid the same, because then no one would go to school for 4+ years to become a doctor, when they can go straight to work as a ditch digger and get the same pay. Rather, everyone should have the same chance to be a doctor (who makes more money because his position is more important than a ditch digger's), and if they fail, it should be from their own doing, not because of laws or outside forces. We are all not created equal in regard to talent. Some of us are smarter. Some of us are stronger. Some of us have other talents; we can be writers (my own small talent), mathematicians, artists, concert composers. Equality is letting everyone develop and be who they are inside, letting them become, and not prohibiting them in any artificial way. Some people are too lazy to pursue their dream, and they should fail. But no one should fail because of outside influences.  
Wow. I just finished a speech. Check "make speech in front of large group of people" off my political checklist. I'm heading for the White House!  
Seriously speaking, I fully support equal rights. Blacks, whites, hispanics, women, etc., they are all humans. We are all souls. Humanity as a whole should move past such pitiful physical definitions and ask who the person is, not what the person is. Sadly, what with all the political actions as of late, race and gender are quickly becoming two of the most important issues. Why else would they ask race and gender on job resumes, traffic violations, etc? 'Tis a sad world we live in.  
I do not support affirmative action, however. I support equal rights for all; I support special rights for none. The entire affirmative action thing is demeaning to the races it proposes to "support", and for those who want "cultural diversity", I say look at population statistics. The reason there are fewer blacks/hispanics in colleges is because there are fewer blacks/hispanics in AMERICA. If only half of white people go to college (rounding very heavily, let's say it's 40) and the same percent of blacks go (again rounding very heavily, let's say it's 6), then who do you think is going to go to college in greater numbers? If every black person in America went to college, then we still would have a disparity. It's simple math, people.  
The equal rights movement has gotten the shaft. If Martin Luther King Jr. ever knew what we had done with his sacred movement, he would lower his great head and cry. We are not a country of "Americans"; we have divided ourselves into whites, blacks, hispanics, freaks, "counter-cultures", geeks, Native Americans, and a million more stupid definitions. I want to be the first to claim this simple statement.

" I am not a white male! I am not a statistic; I am not a number. I am a soul. I am a Christian. And I am an American. Nothing else matters."

Come on everybody, say it with me. Although you can substitute the appropriate information as you please :). Speaking on religion, I am Christian, and I'm pretty sure that I have the only right religion. I am tolerant of others, but don't be surprised when I start trying to persuade you to my viewpoint. I'm not one of the nuts who want to kill everyone who isn't Protestant Christian; that's an even worse sin than anything the other person could possibly be doing. Those people are not real Christians, but servants of the devil. And unfortunately for Christians, very loud servants. Ugh.

(Reads what he just wrote) Uh-oh. Sorry guys! I really did not mean to make a speech. I promise, no more long rants for the next few chapters. Forgive me, fans! (bows repeatedly)  
I've talked enough, so now it's...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 22 Le Tresor Interdit

English Channel, July 18th. 12:23 a.m.  
Any general will tell you that war is luck's plaything, and that more than any other human activity, can be swayed on the slightest whim or desire of Fate. The direction of the entire Civil War was changed when some of Robert E. Lee's notes were accidentally found by Union soldiers. Germany lost a battle against America because a Nazi radio truck got it's directions wrong and drove straight into the American lines, allowing them to figure out the movements of the troops in the region. More than anything else, chance plays a crucial factor in war.  
As it would in this war. Neville told Harry he was going to attack a Ministry ship movement going from Spain to England. Ron and Hermione knew about this movement too. And, in unknowing concert with Neville, they'd planned an attack too.  
Three armies converged in the first real battle of the war later generations of Wizards would remember as the War of the Long Twilight.  
And now, this... this is where the cogs of fate began to turn. Where, in the flow of time, all life stopped and held it's breath. Where it was found that even time may have a stop.  
This is where the dream began to shatter.  
Laughter in the darkness.

Ministry battleship M.N.F. King's Folly. Same time.  
Commodore Wazuki Radius stared into the darkness about him. Above him, like glimmering jewels clasped in the hands of a child, stars shone. He was charting his course by them, using an extremely ancient method of navigating by the North Star. He preferred sailing this way to the more recent development of magical maps. Recent being, of course, a matter of relativity; both had been invented hundreds of years ago. Still, Comm. Wazuki felt more in touch with the true nature of the sea when he sailed by the stars, more at home with the ocean. The soft creak of the magically powered sails, the wind blowing about him gently, even the sound of the water slapping against the ship were all second nature to him.  
He gazed about on the waters, from his position on the top deck of the Folly. To his right, three ships (named by the Director of the Navy, in a brief period of drunken humor, the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria) sailed next to him, containing the three thousand troops they were shipping. Past them, the destroyer named Sea Lion, commanded by Captain Norris Wind, sailed as an honor guard. To the left of the Folly, two other destroyers, the Fargo (commanded by Capt. Zelbess Marbule) and the Dreamer (piloted by a very feminine man named Capt. Nikki Slash) played escort as well. Wazuki sighed contentedly. He expected a pleasant, quiet voyage. A few storm clouds hung off to the west past the Dreamer, but they were being remarkably amicable for storm clouds and had stayed in the same general area, without moving forward or even threatening the ships with thunder. All was well.  
Neville, hiding under the water and watching the boats enter his view as he looked up into the night sky, would have found that very funny.  
Kaleb Isaacs, standing aboard the Bleak Anchor, hovering over the water some distance away and waiting to give the order to attack, would have found it sad.

White Shore flagship Bleak Anchor. Several miles from Ministry ships. Same time.  
Kaleb watched as, in the distance, the Ministry ships floated into view. Protected by a magical screen of storm cover (produced by the wingbeats of the Thunderbird now flying about the ship), they'd waited and waited for a sign, some show of wariness, in the ships. Something to indicate that the Commodore in charge had suspected the storm clouds in the west to hide something more than thunder and lightning. But, in a turn both good and bad, the ships had sailed on innocently unaware of the small army that was now setting out to raid them. Kaleb was glad for military reasons that they did so, anxious for personal reasons- he didn't know if he could do this. White Shore command had explicitly stated that they must capture at least one ship, preferably one of the destroyers or, time and chance permitting, the battleship. Even one of the passenger ships would be a boon, though. The White Shore was the poorest of the three militaries, both in gold and resources. So the capture of enemy resources had been put as top priority, next to the elimination of said enemy. And that had resulted in this mission, and Kaleb's selection to head it.  
Kaleb was famous amongst the Beastkeepers. Having been the leader of the small group which had liberated Alexander (the other members, notably a young Healer named Alice, had become celebrities as well), the Beastkeepers held him in a position of awe and reverence. White Shore soldiers, for their part, respected him for the parts he had played both in Alexander's liberation and the battle at the Lake of the Damned. It was the reason Old Grim had chosen him to lead this mission: since both of the groups respected him, he would have little trouble finding volunteers for this mission. Not that Kaleb had been allowed that many men. A single Thunderbird (the precious creatures were too rare to risk more than one at once) and a group of six baghurst riders, plus this great big airship. The idea was not to attack and obliterate this group, but merely to grab a ship, sink the troop carriers if they could, and get the hell out. Kaleb was more nervous than he'd ever been before. This was his first command job, and already he was performing midnight raids? Why would they place a kid like him in charge of an airship? The captain was here (a former teacher of Durmstrang named Vustag), and he had translated Kaleb's orders into naval talk that was completely incomprehensible to Kaleb. Why did he have to do this?... He had no experience in the navy, it wasn't his place.  
Kaleb calmed his irrational, whining mind and tried to summon up the spirit of the knight within him. Feeling calm and courage flow out of that secret place in him, he settled down as best he could.  
" Sir," Capt. Vustag said, gazing at the passing ships. " we should attack now. They are in perfect position for a head-on attack"  
Kaleb thought for a moment, then said, " Send the Thunderbird and baghurst riders forward, but circle us around behind them. We'll grab a destroyer with the anchors, sink the passenger ships, and fly off. With the riders distracting them, they won't notice us until we've already attacked them from behind"  
" A good move, sir," Capt. Vustag said, impressed despite himself. He had been thinking of such a plan, but though he was a captain, he knew little about naval warfare. Just like the Wizarding community, as a whole, knew little about it, or warfare of any kind.  
Both were about to undergo some very hard schooling.  
" Full speed ahead, men!" Capt. Vustag shouted to his men. As his helmsman attempted to follow them, he said, " Not us. Wheel us about to their sterns. We'll blow them out of the water from behind"  
Just as the riders prepared to charge, and the Bleak Anchor wheeled about to attack the enemy from behind, three gouts of water shot up next to the ships. These were soon accompanied by three massive tentacles, each thick as a man. A booming roar shook the sky, as a great sea serpent raised it's head from the waters. Kaleb stood amazed on the deck, and Capt. Vustag cursed.  
" What in the name of all the gods is going on here?"

underneath the King's Folly, one minute before.  
Neville floated lazily in the war, easily controlling the sensors aboard the Ministry ships. In the water, in his element (so to speak), there was very little he could not control. All Ministry ships had special magical sensors that warned of approaching sea beasts and other vessels. Neville had dulled them all into declaring that the skies and seas were clear for miles around. Unwittingly, he'd also masked the presence of Kaleb and his convoy, who would have easily been detected through their little mask of storm clouds had Neville not inadvertently helped them. In one of Fate's twists, Kaleb's group was invisible to Neville as well, who had no power over Air and couldn't sense them as they floated in the sky. Which made an interesting picture. Kaleb blind to Neville. Neville blind to Kaleb. Wazuki blind to all.  
Three blind mice, all in a row.  
Neville, in the few seconds before he let out the call to his monsters to attack, found a moment to be annoyed with Padma. Neville had changed his attack plans after Padma had decided that she could not help him. She had business of her own to tend to, she'd declared. That bloody arrogant bitch. What was her problem? Neville knew of no problems she'd have to take care of. Aragog was the last major force in the Forest besides the Tide, and he'd pulled all his spider children back after the last few battles. The Ministry and White Shore were still too busy dealing with themselves to fight the Tide as of yet, so why was she holding back on him? Neville shrugged his head and decided to deal with it later. As Master of Water, he had infinite patience. Although that was only when he could get over momentary anger. He'd noticed something about himself- he never carried grudges long, and anger held over long periods of time did not simmer within him and take over at inopportune times. Rather, it was momentary anger- as brief and violent as the crashing of waves- that threatened to overwhelm him. Patience was his, if he only had the self-control to grasp it. When he'd first heard of Padma's withdrawal, in his room in the Jester's Keep, Neville had been so angry he'd almost killed the messenger. Remembering the bad luck such an act supposedly brought, he'd taken his frustrations out on a nearby punching bag (he had begun practicing martial arts, the smooth counters and rushing punches a perfect fit for his element and body type). He'd busted it to pieces, and afterwards the anger left and the calm came. Nothing he could do about it now, so he simply hoped the attack went well. Which it should. Surprise, surprise, surprise. In a small seminar Seamus had held with the other members of the Ebony Flame (along with a few up-and-coming lieutenants of his), he'd drilled them all on this one fact: surprise was their greatest ally. Surprise was the one trick that never got old. Surprise was always new, always dumbfounding, and always devastating. Kill your enemy before they even know what hit them.  
Being drawn out of his thoughts by the shadow passing over him, Neville looked up and smiled. Time to get moving.  
He sent out his psychic commands. The Orb of Water fought him as hard as it could, but in the end he won over it. A Kraken, one of the great monsters of the deep, opened it's great luminescent eyes and rose up out of the water below him. His human frame, large as it was, was dwarfed by the pupils in those eyes. It raised three tentacles slowly, almost languidly, about Neville, as if bowing to it's master before acting. It then shot them out of the water so fast that they became a blur to Neville's eyes, and created gouts of water when they broke the surface. Not a second later Neville caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw a storm cloud become a fast moving, feathered bird. His sight unnaturally enhanced in the water, he noticed a small rider on it, and past it, undeterred by the wind gusts from the magical storm, were the six largest bats he'd ever seen. His eyes widened in complete stupor.  
The baghursts possessed huge wingspans, easily over sixteen feet, and the leathern wings ended in claws. The faces were dominated by a long snout, filled with teeth, and piercing, clear brown eyes. Even from this distance, Neville thought that he detected a piercing, searching intelligence in them. Small clawed feet dangled as the baghursts flapped forward to the attack. On their backs, riders rode in full armor, carrying battle spears. The saddles of all the riders were painted white and silver, with the insignia of the White Shore.  
In short, it was the last thing he'd ever have expected.  
" What the hell?" he thought, completely dumbfounded.  
He watched as the battle began to unfold above him.

English Channel. Same time.  
The charge caught everyone- Comm. Wazuki, his ships, and Neville- completely off guard. Capt. Nikki, who had been gazing off into the distance when the attack came, was so startled by the warcry of the birds that he had fallen backwards, onto his ass, and in doing so doomed himself. The Thunderbird struck with a bolt of lightning that rent the sky and struck the ship's mast with a shuddering boom. The magical sigils had protected it, but the lightning had eradicated the protection in the bargain. The second lightning bolt from the shrieking Thunderbird struck the now unguarded deck, and the rigging burst into flames. Ropes snapped and bodies tumbled, as sailors who had stayed safe during the first attack were blown off their perilous hangings and fell into the sea or onto the deck, where the impact of their bodies were loud, indescribable wet smacks. Nikki thought he would faint from the noise. Before he could, the broken mast, snapping it's timber supports, fell down on top of his cabin. Nikki could do nothing but watch as it came down right on his head and crushed it like a grape. The burning mast caught some of the ship on fire. The flying baghurst riders struck with spears, flying magically straight and true, jabbing down into the milling sailors. One particularly lucky shot pierced a piece of burning cloth and sent it through a window into the map room. The old, dry paper inside was soon ablaze. Speed being of the essence, the riders didn't even give the ship a second look before continuing on to the next target. A sea serpent between the two ships, not knowing whether these creatures were it's allies or not, got it's answer when a spear flew from a baghurst rider and pierced it's side. Roaring in pain, it reared and snapped at the flying annoyance. The baghurst rider, cursing fiercely, pulled away just in time to avoid being guillotined by the massive teeth. A blast from the Fargo vaporized part of the serpent's lower body, and so it abandoned it's attack on the baghurst. It screamed in pain as salt from the rolling waves grated across it's wound.  
Capt. Zelbess reacted as fast as she could. When she saw the Thunderbird and accompanying baghursts, she had shouted attack orders to the crew and, training kicking in, had assumed battle positions. The great weapons of the Ministry navy were rolled out, and though a Muggle would mistake them for cannons, only the Wizards knew what they truly were. A Wizard had invented cannons, in fact; they had not been designed for use with gunpowder, but rather, to focus magic spells. He eventually sold the designs to Muggle blacksmiths and made a fortune in Muggle gold. A cannon's cylinder shape makes it great for focusing powerful spells, and even better for aiming them. A Wizard cannon differs from a Muggle one only in this: instead of gunpowder, a specially trained Wizard focuses raw, untapped magicks into the barrel. When activated by a single spell word, the cannon activates this stored, primal magic and fires it through it's barrel. After the initial crafting, it must only be recharged after each shot. One Wizard armsman had the weapon likened to an outsized metal wand.  
The first blasts from the ship were haphazard. Orange-white beams of power blasted from the sides and deck of the ship, aimed at any target that happened to be handy. One of the shots struck the baghurst-antagonized sea serpent; a second pounded into the water right next to it. Several shots went up into the air and passed the White Shore riders, but none were touched by the beams (although the animals, particularly the Thunderbird, were all very much annoyed at getting shot at). One shot struck a Kraken tentacle and knocked it down. It soon rose back up, barely singed.  
The sea serpent that the ship had struck was bleeding badly, but in it's rage barely felt the wound in it's side. It swam up to the Fargo, and the hastily recharging Wizards aboard grew frantic in their efforts to get the cannons ready to fire again. Before they could do so, the sea serpent threw it's bulk up against the ship, crashing into magical sigils that protected the wood. They fractured and cracked under the force of the blow, their magic weakening under stress. The crew managed to get a few of the guns recharged and directed all their fire at the serpent. Beams of energy tore into it, tearing apart muscles and tendons, flesh and bone. The sea serpent, body blasted to pieces, fell dead into the water. The sharks, driven past Neville's control by the smell of blood, savaged it's corpse.  
The crew had no time to rest before baghurst spears rained down upon it. Sigils cracked and weakened diminished further under a steady rain of blows. To worsen the crew's bad luck, a Kraken tentacle slapped up against the ship, cracking and tearing the wood as some of the sigils finally gave way. The crew tried to get the cannons reloaded, but the baghursts, noticing the crumbling protection of the crew, aimed expert spears at the cannon workers. Though the first few only bounced off, some began finding new homes in the hearts of Ministry wizards. Bodies hit the floor while men screamed for help.  
Comm. Wazuki was far too busy to give anyone aid at the moment. Kraken tentacles were everywhere about him, and a sea serpent was giving his stern workers hell. He was shouting and commanding, an imposing figure, inspiring men to fight. The sea serpent soon died, brain dissolved by cannonfire, but the tentacles proved more stubborn. The few spells thrown at them simply dissolved when they hit, and for some reason his Water Elementalists were unable to calm the creature or divert it's attentions. He wondered briefly about that, then ordered another round of fire directed at the tentacles. Before that command could be completed, a thunderbolt struck his ship in the side, shattering the sigils there. The Kraken, as if instinctively knowing where a weak spot had suddenly been created, whipped one of it's tentacles into the now unprotected hull. Men died as giant splinters of wood were driven with such force into their bodies that they were impaled on them. Cannons, bodies, and armament were flung onto the remaining crew on the other side of the ship. Many were buried under the rubble. Men screamed as the Kraken tentacle actually entered the ship, flinging and crushing all who stood in it's way. Of course, the men were just side casualties of the tentacle's real target. One rule of weak sigil magic is that it only affects the surface it's painted on. Of course, that can change if the magicks are very strong or rare, but the Ministry rarely spent such money on ships. So if the outside was hard, the inside would be soft.  
The tentacle punched through the boards, and alighting on a handy beam, ripped it out. Water began gushing into the ship through the six inch hole. Soon, that hole had widened to over six feet.  
The ship was going down.

Ministry of Magic destroyer M.N.F. Sea Lion  
Capt. Norris Wind gazed about himself desperately. He was a calm man, cool under fire, but the sudden attack had caught him by surprise. Yelling for his men to prepare arms and unfurl the sails, he prepared to race the devil himself. Comm. Wazuki had told him that his basic purpose was to guard the transport ships. Altogether, the fat, ungainly things were more important than every ship out here. And they packed few armaments. So, Capt. Wind was going to give them the order to run for it, while he tried to give what cover fire he could for a while, then get the hell out. Which would have worked fine, if not for the giant anchor that plunged into his ship.  
The attack was sudden and shocking. Norris watched it happen in slow motion, and in trying to retell it to his superiors after being rescued by one of the transport ships he was supposed to be guarding, he could never quite describe what it looked like. He later figured out what it looked like. He'd seen a hawk, once, dive so hard at a rabbit that it actually seemed to blur, to become little more than a shrieking dart of death. That was what the anchor had resembled. A massive gray hawk diving straight into the ship, bursting through the wood like it wasn't even there. Or, more correctly, through it. For the anchor caused no damage when it struck the ship.  
The crew underneath saw the strangest thing. Through the hull over their heads an anchor dropped, passing ghost-like through the wood, and strike the second deck with a muffled thump. Then, the chain attached pulling it up through the roof (as if the wood didn't exist in it's reality) the anchor rose again. It had four points, this anchor, and actually looked like a grappling hook, or maybe a butcher's meat hook. The hooks quickly gripped the wood without destroying it, and the ship began lifting out of the water.  
Norris looked up in wonder, and above him saw hundreds of dangling anchors, some as big as the one now dragging his ship into the air, many smaller, all in the same four point design. It seemed to be attached to the flat bottom of a great, soaring ship... he tried to count the masts as their white sails billowed out the sides. He counted three before the ship above attacked again. A second anchor slammed down, then a third. And when they rose up.  
A man was standing on the third one. No, not a man, a young boy... but his face, and the strange, calm courage in it, made him a man. He was standing on one of the anchor's four points, hanging onto the chain with his right hand as his shoulder-length brown hair blew about in the breeze. In his left hand he held a broadsword. His plate armor seemed to shine in the moonlight, as if reveling in it. He spoke only four words, but they cut through the crew's panic and made themselves heard:  
" Get off this ship"  
Norris looked upwards and saw more anchors coming down. And these all had many, many armed men hanging onto them. He looked up and made his decision.  
" Abandon ship!" he yelled, running for the bannister and leaping off. His crew quickly followed.  
Kaleb Isaacs, grinning from ear to ear with the pleasure of a well finished raid, nodded a command for his crew to lift the ship. He didn't know it then, but that thrill he was feeling at completing an act of honest thievery would become a full-fledged love affair with the art of midnight raids, of "procuring", as he put it, funds for the army. He was destined to be a modern day Robin Hood. But that's not the right term. Destiny doesn't exist, as Harry Potter proved; rather, it may be better to say that he chose to become a modern day Robin Hood, a knightly robber. A legend of his time.  
But he didn't know that then. He simply felt rather good at capturing this ship. The Bleak Anchor was partially formed of dead spirits, though he didn't know much of the details, and by some means of splitting the border eternal, it could cause it's chains and anchors to become partially unreal, not there. While in this state of nonexistence, they could go through anything. And when solidified.  
Kaleb grinned as he and his crew flew off into the night. Their work done, the baghursts and lone Thunderbird wheeled about, flying off. Kaleb would report the strange sea monster attack when he got home, but that was besides the point.  
He had no idea that someone watched him from beneath the waves. A very, very angry someone. A person whose infinite patience, if not overwhelmed by a moment's anger, could very well wear down the shores of Time itself.

-Send comments and reviews! 


	28. To Each Dog a Day

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY CHARACTERS THEREOF.  
- Indicates thought.  
- indicates telepathy/word emphasis/italics.

Alright people. I didn't want to, but you've forced me into it. It's not a speech, but it's lengthy, all the same. Here we go.  
To Stratagemini- I feel bad for you. I really do. It is sad, that anyone in this world should think that religion is the source of all evil. It is not. True religion, true faith, is the source of what little is right in this world. True Christians will not harm others. Save to defend ourselves, our country, or our beliefs, we are forbidden from slaying others. We are here to heal, not to harm. As a Jew, you have probably been subjected to far more criticism and hatred than any one person should bear. I'm not extending pity- I, myself, hate pity more than anything else- merely my sympathies. Please, remember that you are the chosen of God. That, and that alone, is why others target you for their idiot hatred. You are not alone.  
Remember that.  
And remember also, I was not "proselytizing" in the last chapter, merely stating my beliefs. If you view that as offensive, sorry, but it's my beliefs, and I'm sticking to them.  
To Drizzt 203-Saw- I feel bad for you, too, but in an entirely different way. I feel bad because you have fallen into darkness. I urge you to read the Bible. Read it not as just a book, but try to see it as truth. We all need the light of Jesus Christ in our lives.  
Odd, that what I was accused of last chapter, I do in this one.  
Still, I've no problem with it. As a Christian, it's one of my main jobs to try and guide others to the better path. I can't force you to it; no one can or should. I can merely try to point you in the general direction. Where you go from there is your road to walk, not mine. It's why we have free will; to choose between God and the Devil. Between Truth and Lies.  
Your choice.  
To the Catholic Reviewer (I beleive it's Redskin)- God bless you, friend. I feel sorry for the Church, being pushed through such hard times, but you'll come out the better for it. Now that the controversy has broken wide open, it can be ended. It was a festering wound, but with the scab pulled off, it can now be disinfected and removed. I'm not a Catholic, but I proudly stand by them as a Christian brother.  
To several reviewers- There is a difference between stating I'm a male so that everyone doesn't say "Hey Lady!" in reviews, and trying to make an equal America. In Equality, gender doesn't count; when you're just talking, it does, for identification purposes.  
To My Sadly Messed Up Reviewer- The name you're hunting for is King. Martin Luther King Jr., to be exact. A good man, possibly a great one. And after reading your review (shakes head and laughs)... well... it's not the people with funny names trying to kill America. It's the terrorists. But don't worry about sounding like a racial profilist; truth is, the Islamic fundamentalists come from the Middle East, as a general rule. There are exceptions (Lindh springs immediately to mind), but not enough to disprove the rule.  
To King of the Nazgul- Finally! Someone mentioned the game that inspired a million references! Even the chapter name was inspired by Chrono Cross! And no one got it but you! ARRGH!  
My Best Read-Between-The-Lines Reviewer- I'm sorry I forgot your name, but you and you alone have figured it out! The Tide really will win in the end! I keep referring to it, but no one but you has gotten it yet! Kudos, my friend!  
I've jabbered more than enough. It's now...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 23 To Each Dog a Day

Squall Cape, Ministry Naval Base, shores of England, July 18th, 3:00 a.m.  
Comm. Edgar Figaro, an old sailor whose blond hair lay in an eternal pigtail on the back of his neck, waited anxiously for the ships. Where were they?  
" Commodore"  
Edgar turned. Behind him, waving his hand wildly in the air, one of his scanner men was waiting anxiously behind his screen. The rolling seat he was sitting in (one of the few inventions of Muggles that had made it big in the Wizarding world) tilted and wobbled violently as the over-enthusiastic private tried to get his commander's attention.  
" We got movement"  
Commodore Edgar Figaro walked over to the private. They were in the command deck of the M.N.F. Giant's Maw, and outside the portholes of the deck to his right the bleak black ocean rolled on and on. The Ministry Naval Base called Squall Cape lay to his left (North, he reminded himself as he absently glanced at an onboard compass in the control deck to his right), a small and modest little port that was barely equipped to handle the three thousand troops (plus the men on the escort ships) that would be arriving soon. The port had been told to expect them by 2 o' clock, maybe later if complications arrived. When it got to be 2:30, the men were worried; now they were positively scared. Edgar had heard some of the men whispering of the Black Tide, wondering if they were somehow behind this. Edgar had grabbed the crewman who'd been doing the wondering and thrown him into a nearby wall, cussing him out all the while. Fear like that could disrupt the entire damn ship. The unlucky crewman was now resigned to his fate of peeling potatoes. For a month. If he'd backtalked, Edgar would have made it two.  
As the Commodore reached the scanner, the private said, " Sir, it's showing one ship, moving slowly. Looks hurt, sir. And the size and shape... it has to be a transport, sir." The crewman looked up at Edgar with ever widening eyes. " You don't think it's... ours, do you, sir"  
" Of course not," Edgar replied, but felt a twinge of fear in his heart all the same. One ship.  
" Set a course for it," Edgar said. " We have to investigate this"  
" Aye aye, sir," the crewman said, casting a few simple spells to transmit the orders to the crew. Soon enough, the entire ship was turning about and heading south. As they traveled south, towards the mystery that lay south of them, a deathly silence took over the control room. It was quiet, and it stayed that way. No one wanted to be the first to speak and break the spell, break the strange assurance the silence seemed to give that this was just an errant merchant vessel or (please God please) a black marketeer, looking to make a midnight run.  
Anything but a lone survivor of the transport.  
When the ship was finally in viewing range, the crow's nest lookouts all cried out the same thing.  
" It's one of ours! It's one of ours"  
Comm. Figaro let out a sigh and put his hand to his forehead. So. It was true.  
" Do you know who?" he asked a crewmate. The crewmate quickly transferred the question via magic to the crow's nest.  
" Looks like the Pinta!" their magically amplified voices returned.  
As the Giant's Maw pulled up beside the transport, the tattered remnants of men aboard let out a ragged cheer and waved at them from the deck. Comm. Figaro walked out onto his own deck, and ordered a bridge summoned up to connect the two ships. When the magical bridge came into being, he began to step across, but a soaked and bedraggled man cut him off first. He ran up to the commodore and tripped on his own feet. Laying on the ground, he said only this:  
" We have quite the story to tell you"  
Then Capt. Norris Wind passed out.

Transcript of Message from Commodore Edgar Figaro to Susannah Bones, Minister of Magic The following was recovered from official Wizengamot records, dating back to the time of the War of the Long Twilight. It was encrypted, using codes that have henceforth been broken. Though it has been translated into English, some of the original coding remains. It is believed to be the first official notice the Wizengamot received of the battle in the Channel.  
DISPATCH FOUR-FOUR-NINE-THREE CODE LEVEL TEN DATE: 7/18/XX SENDER: PIGTAIL RECEIVER: BIG SHOW RE: OPERATION BACKWATER STATUS: ALL SHIPS SAVE PINTA DESTROYED. SURVIVORS HALF INSANE. SEEM CONFUSED & FRIGHTENED. MENTION GREAT "MONSTERS", PROBABLY KRAKEN AND SEA SERPENTS. MENTION "GHOST VESSEL" THAT FLOATED IN THE SKY... REPORTS WAITING ON IDENTITY OF MYSTERY VESSEL, PERHAPS UNKNOWN AIRSHIP, MAYBE BUILT BY B/T?  
CAPTAIN OF SEA LION STILL ALIVE, CLAIMS SHIP WAS TAKEN BY THE "GHOST VESSEL" AND DRAGGED OFF BY HUGE CHAINS... PERSONALLY BELIEVE HE'S LOST HIS MIND. HAVE SCHEDULED MEMORY TREATMENTS FOR HIM... TRYING TO FIND OUT WHAT HE REALLY SAW. WILL BE COMPLETED IN A WEEK.  
SURVIVORS STATE THAT AFTER THE SUPPOSED "GHOST SHIP" LEFT, THE MONSTERS SEEMED TO DRIFT OFF AND HALT THEIR ATTACKS. NINA WAS TOO DAMAGED TO MAKE IT HOME, BUT PINTA SURVIVED THE TRIP. ALL DESTROYERS P/BATTLESHIP HAD BEEN SUNKEN BEFOREHAND.  
NO NEW INFORMATION AT THIS TIME. WILL ALERT YOU AS SOON AS ANYTHING TURNS UP.  
OVER AND OUT.  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wizard Town of Hope Bright, countryside of England, July 19th. Noon.  
Sirius Black looked up into the bright sunlit sky. Clouds drifted lazily, as they always had, ignoring the lives and deaths and fates of all those who lived below them. Drifted by ignorant of the torment wracking one man's heart.  
Sirius lowered his gaze and walked on. Hope Bright was a fairly big Wizarding town, not a city like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, but pretty big regardless. It was also a town that had a long history of Enchanters and Illusionists. Henceforth, when Sirius walked about in a magically created face that disguised his true identity, the people thought nothing of it and went on their way. Half the people here had enchanted faces, to enhance their looks and beauty. It was a popular pastime here. A Mudblood Wizard had once jokingly suggested that Hope Bright was the Wizarding equivalent of a town of plastic surgeons. He was pretty close, too.  
As Sirius walked down the streets, heading to a rather respectable inn he'd inquired at, his mind twisted and turned. He was like a raging, boiling cauldron of hot water, just waiting for enough heat to push it over the edge and cascade down the sides of it's container, drowning everything in it's path. Sirius thought about that, and chuckled. Great. Now he was comparing himself to cookware. Next he really would go insane.  
He shook his head sadly as he walked down the street, his brief levity completely forgotten, and as people passed him they seemed to cringe and dodge almost involuntarily. None of them would say just why they avoided this man; it may just have been something about his aura. Of great pain and unspeakable loss.  
Those who have suffered a great life change usually find that the mass of humanity is no more than ants to them. To those who have seen both the higher things and the lower things, the acts and concerns of mere humanity seem unimportant and weak. As they were to Sirius, who had suffered so in Azkaban. He'd tried to explain to Harry, but there was so much you couldn't say... the long nights when he considered ripping his own paw off so that the gushing bloodflow would kill him and end his torment... the screaming of so many prisoners as Dementor after Dementor gave them special treats, little kisses that left the receiver dead to all things... the sheer unspeakable aura of the place. It was not a place you could describe.  
But there was also that one event, that beautiful and single event that had happened five years after he'd arrived, an event so great and grand that the memory of it was enough to keep him fighting for years to come. To eventually free himself. More than his dog form, more than the fact he was innocent, the great happenings of a cold day in December in his fifth year at Azkaban had helped him carry on.  
But that day was not for remembrance now. Later, yes... but not right now. He had to think.  
Why? Why had Harry turned dark? What had happened? Why?  
Sirius thought about everything he knew about Harry (which, admittedly, wasn't much). He had struck Sirius as a somewhat confused, lost boy, who was naturally cheery and chummy but was also just as naturally a pessimist and cynical about the world. When they'd caught Pettigrew as Ron's rat Scabbers (and even now, Sirius felt the old rage for Pettigrew boil up in him, like that oft-spoke of cauldron, bubbling over it's constraints to consume everything), it had been Harry who was least surprised of the three children. Ron had been dumbfounded, Hermione even more so (alongside her great brainpower, she had unfortunately inherited an innate tendency towards arrogance and belief in her own superiority, something Sirius had picked up even though it was their first real meeting), and Harry had been surprised too... but somewhere, deep in his heart, the confusion had ended and the thinking began. Sirius wondered why Harry had saved Pettigrew. Misguided honor? Some skewed sense of right and wrong (which in reality dictated Pettigrew's sudden and imminent death)? Or something deeper? Something... calculating? Something that may have wanted Pettigrew to suffer far more than he could have if Sirius and Remus had simply killed him? What was it, that had made him suffer Pettigrew to live?  
In the other conversations, carried out by letter and fire, that the two had held, Sirius had sensed something in Harry: a half-hidden feeling, like the undertow of a river that seemed to be the weakest part of the rushing water, an undertow that you only realized was the strongest part when it pulled you under and wouldn't let you back up. This feeling was rage. Rage against the world. Part of it was hate (and who couldn't hate, brought up by the Dursleys, parents murdered, regarded as freak by Muggles and hero by Wizards, who could not hate?) and part of it was a deep, abiding sadness (sadness for loss, both his own and all the world's), but the main thing was rage. Rage against everything. Harry had become the exact opposite of the pitiful, whining crying geeks that filled the world, that moaned and cried about the state of things but never did anything about it- he had become a rager, a hater, someone who would seek a high position and from there deal out retribution to all the world. Of course, at the time of the talks, Sirius hadn't sensed all this, but it came out easily enough when he thought about it now (hindsight really did have a clarity so perfect it was agonizing). Maybe that was the source of Harry's madness. Of the Jester.  
Sirius shook his head. Regardless, he had a train to catch. He was heading north, to Durmstrang, on a smuggler's boat, and to get to the isolated beach it was launching from he required the aid of a train. A Muggle train, but that was okay. Better, maybe.  
After all, if he took the Knight Bus, he'd probably have to kill most of the passengers and take the driver hostage just to get where he wanted to go. And then he'd have to kill anyone else left so he could protect the identity of his smuggler. And that would mean so many bodies to bury.  
Smirking at his own traitorously sarcastic thoughts, Sirius walked on through the town, heading to London for his train. Where, in a few day's time, a great tragedy would occur...

Emissary Tower, formerly Headmaster's Tower of Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, somewhere in France. Same time.  
Fleur looked out the window, human in form now, wearing a gray outfit she'd chosen just for these occasions. He was coming. The person she'd thought of as a little boy years ago (and his actions, after all, had seemed to be a boy's, including the staring and ogling she had grown used to and learned to hate) and now thought of as her boss. Harry Potter. The Jester King.  
The man that she was so afraid of. That she so hated, for making her feel so confused. That she so desperately wanted to believe.  
The door behind her creaked open slightly, and then, as if realizing that opening a room unanounced was a drastic breach in conduct, the guest closed it slightly and knocked lightly, politely. Fluer lowered her head.  
" Come in," she said, her thoughts still dire. The visitor walked in, and as always, the force of his personality struck her. Even when you weren't looking at him, Harry had a way about him of commanding attention. She turned around.  
He was dressed in rather simple clothing; in fact, all she could see of what he was wearing was an enormous black cape that covered his shoulders and body. None of him except his face was clearly visible, and that was partially hid by a sweeping head of hair. It hadn't been cut in a while, so it had grown quite long. The overall effect, however, wasn't of shagginess or sloppiness; rather, it was one of mystery, as the long bangs served to partially cast his face into shadow. The scar that now reached the tip of his nose winked out of that shadow like a red eye gleamed at night. Harry's head was held up straight, but somehow seemed to be lowered in thought, as hers had been a few seconds ago.  
" Fluer," he said, nodding to her. The scar winked at her again. She nodded back.  
" Sir," she responded.  
He walked over to the window beside her, and looked down over the fields of Lunas. Fleur turned around and joined him. From this high up, one could almost see for forever... or so it seemed. Below them, audible even from this height, the cursing and laughing of giants at play floated up, distance transforming it from a noise like diesel trucks smashing into each other and into something more like the sound of genial conversation. The giants were having the times of their lives, regarding the huge grasslands surrounding Beauxbatons as playing grounds for titanic games of wrestling and American football. A young Marauder named Pierre (a former student of Beauxbatons) had been to America once, and instantly fallen in love with the American version of football. When the Tide had come to Beauxbatons, he'd taught the game to his newfound army friends, and soon entire groups of Marauders were playing football with each other. When the Rogues had arrived, the giants had watched them play with particular eagerness, and when they'd learned the rules, they fell in love with the game. Giants and football went together like meat and potatoes, and now an enormous playing field had been marked off on the grasslands with magical lines that never faded or disappeared. A good thing too, since the giants tended to be very rough in their games of football. The thudding sound of great bodies hitting the ground had become an everyday thing to the people of Lunas. Just as the sound of the machinery at the Boneyards, the whirring and scraping noises of earthwork, had become just another background noise to them. Like the people living near Niagara Falls, the people of Lunas were actually rather uncomfortable without a great deal of noise going on in the world around them. In later years, Lunas would be jokingly called the "Rumbling City" for the constant noise that flowed out of it.  
Oddly enough, the problem of giant aggression had been taken care of by Pierre when he introduced football- if two giants disagreed, the law of Lunas stated that they could take it to the field. The two giants would round up eleven friends each, and then the game would start. The victor would be declared the winner of the argument. There had been some grumblings at first, but because football was so much like fighting that the end result seemed to be the same (minus a bunch of dead giant bodies lying around, of course), the giants readily agreed to the new rules. Unfortunately, Fleur was worried that she'd have to start building a new stadium, just to keep up with all the arguments the giants were having. Everybody had a score to settle, it seemed. The football field was booked for a week. At the moment, a game was about to end, and it looked like the team decked out in blue was going to lose to a group with green ribbons. Since wearing actual team color shirts would have been impractical (not to mention expensive), Fleur had designed long flowing ribbons that were easy to replace and still identified the team. Those giants who had formed "professional" teams proudly wore their ribbons at all times, the great strands flying out ludicrously from their hair. Pierre, who had been put in charge of football by default, wore a single black ribbon in his hair, and could usually be seen flying about on a broomstick over the football games. He didn't ref the games himself, though; much safer to leave that to someone else. A ref might get accidentally knocked off their broomstick by an errant hand or fist, and Pierre himself had almost gotten killed by a (relatively) small giant who'd flown out of the game after a particularly hard sack and nearly landed atop him. Ever since then, Pierre tried to fly as far above them as he possibly could. He watched the games with keen interest, devising new rules and strategies particularly designed to make the game even more enticing to giants. He was a barely visible spot above the field to Fleur's vision.  
" It's strangely beautiful, isn't it?" Harry said, his voice low, almost a whisper. His face, lowered as it was, seemed to be covered by his hanging hair, and it struck Fleur as sad and solemn, somehow. She looked at him, dark face in profile.  
" What?" she said, not confused by what he had said, but the way he looked.  
" This." He raised his left hand out of the great cloak on him, revealing an arm dressed in a black suit sleeve. He moved his hand slowly in the air, indicating all of Lunas with one expansive wave, then just as slowly retreated his hand back into the cape. His cape's hem shushed against the floor as it parted briefly, then resettled.  
" It is a pretty view," Fleur said, not understanding what Harry was getting at.  
" Not just that," Harry said, and for the first time Fleur saw that Harry was sad. The laughing demon, the Jester King, was now solemn and silent, a figure of thoughtful, quiet repose. It struck Fleur as one of the oddest things she'd ever seen in her life, but the new mood did not seem as if it was foreign to Harry- rather, it seemed just as natural as his insane laughter to him. Maybe more.  
" What do you mean?" she asked him, head cocking to the side as she tried to study him, to puzzle him out.  
" It's... all this," he said, shaking his head slightly, a bare twitch from left to right and back again. " Look out there. Giants, playing out in the open. In any other place on this earth, they would be killed... tortured... murdered..." Harry shook his head again and sighed. " And why? For what reason? Just for existing? Just for being?" He sighed again. " For such a pathetic and foolish reason"  
" Harry? Sir?" Fleur said.  
Harry turned to face her. His bangs hid his face from her, seeming to wrap it in darkness, but his voice came out to her, from that shadowy place beneath his hair, and in that voice she heard nothing but the unmistakable ring of truth.  
" You don't trust me. I know that. I understand it and more so... respect it, that you would not be stupid enough to give your trust blindly. I'm not here to ease all your fears about me. I couldn't do that if given all the time in the world, and my words alone would never alleviate your mistrust in it's entirety- might, indeed, deepen it, make you fear me more, fear I was planning some treachery. But that's alright. I just want to make you understand this one thing"  
" What?" Fleur said.  
" I want to make you understand," Harry said, " that I want to make this the world of the Forbidden. We've all been downtrodden our whole lives. Each and every one of us, in their own way, has suffered. We're the underdogs, Fleur. Beaten on, kicked around, ordered about, used and when there is nothing left of us, after they've taken and taken and taken, we're thrown away like old bottles. We're Forbidden. Forbidden from life. Forbidden from happiness. Forbidden from freedom"  
He turned and looked out the window, and Fleur continued staring at him, hearing all the essence of her life and her mission at Lunas summed up in a few simple words, in phrases that echoed in her heart and mind.  
" I want to make us the monsters they think we are," Harry said fiercely, almost cursing the words into the air. " I want to give the Forbidden it's time in the sun. We have suffered too much, too long. Denied everything because of birth..." Here his voice broke for a second, and Fleur saw inside him, saw to that part of him that he showed no one willingly, the part that always screamed at the injustice of the world, " And now I want to change that. I want to make the hunted the hunter, the master the slave. I want to break this world and make it bleed beneath my feet. And I want to help every one of us who have cried out in the night and heard no one answer but the wind. I want us to touch the sky"  
He turned to Fleur and said one more thing, a saying which stuck in her head all her life from that point on:  
" Every dog has his day. Now it's our turn."

-R and R please! 


	29. A Fiery Breeze

Wow! Re-updated! Sorry 'bout the bad formatting, but it's the best I can do!  
"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 24

A Fiery Breeze

Partially completed Jester's Keep, meeting room of Ebony Flame. July 20th. Noon.  
Seamus Finnegan looked down at the maps before him, trying to figure out what to do next. The attack in the Channel had went extremely well, with just one ship making it out, and the sighting of a new White Shore weapon was a good thing too; now that they knew about it, they could counter it. As Seamus looked at the maps on the table below him, he wondered what to do next. There really weren't any small units the Tide could harass; the Ministry had learned it's lesson and had bunched itself into large, tightly knit groups in easily defendable areas. Of course, the Tide could now launch strikes against almost any Ministry-controlled Wizarding city and demolish it in seconds, since there weren't any guards around most of them- but that would have been counterproductive. Harry wanted to rule everything, not burn it all to the ground. Flame and ash sounded all well and good when you were thinking about destruction, but when you wanted to rule...

Seamus stopped dead, as he thought about fire. He blinked twice, as if he was a computer rechecking it's banks of memory, and then looked down at the maps.

In the middle of the table, a map of England was displayed. And displayed therein was London.

Seamus ran out of the room to find Harry.

-

London, England. July 23rd. Dawn.

As the sun began to rise on the far coasts, the people of London were awoken by singing. Most of the people did not catch the words, sleepy as they were; but a few did, and though they did not understand what the words meant, they were scared.

Somewhere deep inside, they were scared.

The 23rd of that year was forever after regarded as one of the bleakest, blackest days in all of England's history. International aid arrived for weeks afterward, trying to restore the historic city to it's former glory.

But what has been touched by fire is changed forever.

-

Outside London, England. Same time.

Almost every great city has been burned at some time or another. Chicago burned, New York burned, and a million other big cities have at some point been burned by flame. London was no exception; the Great Fire of London created tales that perservered to the present time. With the technology they possessed, the Muggle firefighters thought they could handle any flame, and prevent another Great Fire from destroying the homes and lives of British citizens.

They were wrong.

An army of six thousand was walking towards London on the highways of the Muggle road system. Ordinarily, six thousand troops would get mopped up by the guard units around London; but this was no ordinary group.

They were Wizards.

At the head of the column was a group of Marauders, but behind them, the real warriors waited; the Purgers, Skullmakers at the ready, were marching, and as they marched they sang.

-

The Lyrics of the Purger's Marching Song, " A Fiery Breeze"

Every army has songs they sing while they march, songs generally called "cadences". Cadences run the gauntlet from hilariously funny to morbid and sad, but every army has them. How the Tide discovered their cadences, however, is something of a story in itself.

The legend goes that the Black Tide had no cadences until one day when Seamus was marching his troops in a practice formation. As he marched them, he found himself humming a Muggle tune he'd heard once, a rock tune that fit with their steps. As he hummed the tune, he found himself unconsciously singing it, and he noticed that it helped his steps stay in unison with those of his soldiers. Realizing that he'd stumbled onto something, he told his troops to sing with him, and soon afterwards the Tide discovered cadences. Many people crafted songs and sent them to Seamus, hoping to write "the song" that would become an official Tide cadence, but only one stuck out in his mind. It was a song an entire corps of Purgers had written together, and represented the essential heart and soul of the Tide. Seamus soon had Ginny (who was running most of the laws in the Tide by that time) write and pass a bill making it the official marching tune of the Tide.

Traditionally, units of Purgers always sing first, in recognition of having written the song.

The tune goes like this:

"A Fiery Breeze"

"We all laugh

As does our King

And as we laugh

We shall sing,

Of the burning road,

on the burning land,

and the flames that roar,

beneath our hand,

For you see,

the Tide has come,

and we won't leave,

'til the burning's done,

For though we are,

A Tide of Black,

Fire is a friend,

We do not lack,

And you can hide,

behind steel leaves,

you'll still get caught,

in a fiery breeze.

You drove us out,

and now we're in,

and we'll make this world,

a place of sin,

Because you thought,

to end us all,

We'll set you up,

for a great big fall,

And in you'll go,

to the darkest maw,

And see inside,

the horrors we saw,

So now hear us,

ye who threw us out,

and know right now,

no matter how you shout,

that you can hide,

in mighty trees,

You'll still get caught,

in a fiery breeze.

In a fiery breeze.

In a fiery breeze."

-

Outskirts of London, England. Dawn of the 23rd.  
Seamus rode before his men, his spider mount covering the ground swiftly with it's long, hair-covered legs. As he rode, he sang with his men, reveling in the song and marching to it's beat. He'd debated getting drummers in the army, but decided that it would be too much of a strain on already thin forces to do so. Besides, the song didn't seem to need anything other than the singing of the damned to do it justice. The song was a heartfelt cry of the Tide, and it rolled on and on like water over fallen shores. As the army marched, cars coming out of London braked to a halt, and the inhabitants stared at the approaching army with mingled confusion and shock. Muggles, after all, were not used to seeing armies of spider-riding knights walking on their roads.

As the car drivers realized that what was happening was no hallucination (they discovered this at about the point the army began crushing the cars in it's way and killing the inhabitants), they began to scream and panic and honk their horns in madness and try to get away- but none of them did. One truck driver, who was partially drunk at the time, attempted to flatten the approaching army with his semi. Seamus vaporized him and most of his truck with his Bayonet. The newly freed wheels spun a few times and rolled off to the sides.

As the army began to reach the outlying suburbs of London, they opened up with their Skullmakers. Streams of fire arced through the sky over the ground and seemed to stroke the houses nearby, as if they were friendly fingers caressing a loved one. The houses soon burst into flames.

The army continued rolling on, heading to the very heart of London.

-

BBC Helicopter, skies over London, same time.

Dan McDale looked out over the boring sky of London. Every day it was the same damn thing. When he'd first gotten this job a few weeks ago he'd thought it would be great- and who wouldn't want to fly around in a helicopter all day, bitching about the weather and getting paid for it- but now he found that it was more boring than his deskjob had been. He almost wished he was back there now; at his old job, he could at least try and see if he could look up the skirt of the new secretary and get rewarded with a glimpse of her thong every now and then. As his job was now, the only person he could stare at was his pilot, and if that man didn't have a face only a mother could love, then Dan didn't know who did.

" Ready, Mr. McDale?" the old pilot said. Dan nodded, while privately fuming; the old bastard always said "Mr.", like he couldn't let protocol drop, even for a moment. Ooh, it made him so mad he could barely stand it.

" Okay, we're rolling in five... four... three... " the old pilot held up two fingers, then one, and finally closed his fist, indicating the camera was on. Dale waited a second to be sure, then began his daily weather report.

" This is Dan McDale, with the BBC weather report. In our news today... holy shit!" Dan screamed.

The pilot looked back at him, wondering what in the world had caused that ejaculation from him. As the pilot looked back, he saw the pillar of flame that had caught Dan's attention. It caught his too. This is Dan McDale, BBC news! There's an enormous cloud of fire that has engulfed a portion of the city! We're going there now-"

As the helicopter's engine roared and it began zooming off to the towering inferno on the outskirts of the city, Dan McDale forgot all about his boredom problems. This was more than just latebreaking news; this was an event, and events were the kind of thing that got you promoted to star reporter! Maybe even a cushy job as anchor!

" We're hearing ground chatter from the police now- and what the hell is that on the ground? It looks like... giant spiders! Holy shit! What is this?"

-

Outskirts of London, England. Same time.

As a general rule, Muggle forces are not and never have been equipped to deal with Wizards. Oh, sometimes Muggles will pull certain tricks out of their hat- look at the victorious U.S. Abrams unit, for example- but usually, they simply stop, stare, and get their heads torn off.

This happened to be on of those times.

The first units to respond to the flames suddenly engulfing lower London were, of course, the firefighter units, closely followed by police units. The radio chatter of that time is quite informative, and despite the flames that raged throughout most of London that day, a few recordings have survived.

Here is an excerpt of one:

" Unit P12-5, responding to fires in east sector, 13-12, assorted perps spotted in area, believed to be source of flames, am responding to see if I can make an arrest. Over."

" This is P12-3, I ain't letting you get the credit, you jackass. First one to round up the suspects gets a free beer. Over."

" You're on, ya ass. Course, that'll be if the firefighter squads don't run them over first- boy, those guys drive like bats out of hell. Over."

" With good reason, over."

" Alright, I can see some of the flames- holy shit!"

" What? Unit P12-5, come in!"

" I can't fucking believe this! What the (here, the radio fritzes out, as radios tend to do when shouted into, and his next few words are unintelligible). We're returning fire! Oh God, Barnes and Daniels just got wiped out! What the fu-"

Here, the radio completely cuts off; dead silence reigns for a few moments.

" Unit P12-5! Unit P12-5! Walls! Clive! Damn it! Where are you! HQ, do you read?"

" We read! We're sending in units now! What's the situation? Where are you!"

" We're following P12-5! I gotta find what happened to them! Oh shit!" Gunfire, screams, then a strange chittering noise.

" Unit P12-3! Are you alright? Unit P12-3!"

A clunking noise can be heard, then more chittering. The roar of flames, before a background noise, becomes far more audible. There are sounds of tapping, as if someone is tossing the radio back and forth in their hands. Then, the button is pressed, and this can be heard:

" Put that down. We've got work to do. Grab your mount and move it, soldier! We got burning to do!"

" But sir, there's this voice coming out of it. How the hell do you work this Muggle contraption anyway?"

" Huh? It works around us? That's strange. Give it to me."

There are some more tapping noises, then the button is pressed again, and a young man's voice can be heard saying this:

" This is General Seamus Finnegan. I represent the Black Tide. We Wizards have come to burn this land to the ground. And no one will stand in our way. Know that, ye who hear me. We have come. And we shan't leave until the burning is done."

Then, silence.

-

London, England. Same time.

Seamus thrust his Bayonet through the radio receiver and crushed it all to hell. He didn't know why those things still worked around a group of Wizards this large, but he did know how to make it quit working. After wiggling his blade and scrambling the parts inside the car some more, he turned and remounted his spider. The other Dusk Knight had already left, going hunting among the fleeing hordes. Seamus had warned his men not to kill any more Muggles than they had to; the whole idea behind this attack was to create a situation the Ministry couldn't cope with.

In other words, they were here to make the Muggle world know about Wizards.

Seamus grinned. There was no way the Ministry was going to be able to cover this up without withdrawing almost all of their forces from the rest of England. And when they did...

-

Wizengamot, Ministry of Magic. Same time.

A harried messenger ran into the room, out of breath and scared more badly than he thought he would ever be. The messenger paused for breath, getting air in great heaving gulps, and waved the guards back. They waited there, somewhat confused, and rather abashed at having been sent back by a single wave of the hand. Gathering their nerves, they walked forward, determined to throw this intruder out. Susan Bones waved them back.

" Hold," she said, and the guards, glad that their duty had been fulfilled, stepped back to the door. The head guard, who had been explaining to Susan that the spy they'd caught in the Ministry had revealed, after days of questioning and mental torture, that she was a White Shore spy, waited as well. The messenger coughed, heaved, gulped, and finally choked out:

" London's burning!"

-R and R everybody. And remember: Check out "Even a Serpent", my new HP story! 


	30. London Bridge is Falling Down

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 25 London Bridge is Falling Down

Somewhere in London, England. July 23rd. Morning.

Seamus sat astride his spider, breathing in deep and taking in the scent of burning. Ah. Nothing quite so refreshing as the smell of battle.

Not that there was that much battling going on. A few police units were shooting at them (guns, having no electrical parts, worked quite well around Wizards, much to Seamus' chagrin) and one firefighter group had accidentally careened into them and killed a few men with sheer weight- but all in all, this was one of the calmest fights Seamus had ever gotten into.

Then he heard more than felt the ground shake, and smiled. Turning his mount around, he began shouting orders to his men.

" Men! Ministry forces are approaching! Dusk Knights, find ambush positions! Spread out in any area that is so far free of flames. Most of this town is gonna be up in flame, but we got a leeway of about an hour. Spread out and fight at will. The one rule is don't get killed. Whenever an hour has passed or your chosen combat position catches fire- whichever happens first- leave the city and report back to the meeting grounds we decided on! For those who have forgotten, it's the small meadow to the west of here. Purger units, continue through the city. March away from our positions! Marauder groups one through five, stay with them! Marauder group six, find a fallback position near here! If a Dusk Knight gets in trouble, they'll come running to you, so be prepared! Seamus, over and out!"

The Dusk Knights took off, scattering into buildings for ambush positions. The Purgers kept walking, under Seamus' orders to spread fire through as much of London as they could. Most of the Marauders stayed with them, but the one company of veterans stayed behind, ready to strike the enemy unawares from their positions in houses, streets, dark alleys.

Seamus found himself a spot in an open window and waited.

-

Outside London, England. Same time.

The Ministry forces outside England were too shocked, tired, and stunned to sing or make any form of cadence. They simply marched, running as fast as they could, barreling towards London from the closest Wizarding town with a force large enough to help. Of course, since the Ministry had only a rough estimate of how many Tide forces were in the town, they ended up overestimating how many forces were there, and the Ministry approached with over nine thousand men- far more than Seamus had expected.

Expectation is a large part of a military strategy. You must guess what your opponent's next moves are, so you can plan ahead to counter them. You must try to guess your enemy's moves so that you can guide him, pushing him towards a favorable position for yourself.

However...

There are certain expectations one must deal with in warfare. These are the unexpected expectations, ones you don't know are in you until they are wronged. There is a long list of these throughout history, from the Romans expecting Hannibal to fail in the mountains to the Germans assuming they could defeat Russia before winter. These unexpected expectations are the greatest flaw of a military commander, and cause the most damage when exploited. However, because so many commanders don't even know what their own unexpected expectations are, they are also the hardest flaw to use for an advantage... unless, of course, one possesses great dumb luck.

Seamus possessed great dumb luck. Luck, that ephemeral, blind judge of human existence, had chosen him for a special round of loving this time. For you see, Lady Luck had determined that the commander of the Ministry forces, one Siegfried Leehalt, had lived in London all his young, childhood days. And there were certain sections of the city he loved more than life.

So far, none of them were burning. He intended to keep it that way.

" Colonel Leehalt!" A soldier shouted to him as he rode up on his warhorse. " We've reached the city! What are your orders, sir?"

Leehalt narrowed his gaze. " Squadrons 2-5! Go to positions B-13, C-13, D-19, and F-20! Guard those positions until I tell you otherwise!"

And off went four thousand troops. Now, only five thousand men gathered to hear what the boss had to say.

" Squadron 1, stay with me. Squadrons 6 and 7, circle around the burned area. See if you can trap them inside. Squadrons 8 and 9, you take the east side and west side of the burned area, respectively. Me and Squadron 1 will swing around to the front. We should have them entrapped. Once I give the signal, charge forward and kill everybody in your path. That..." and here Leehalt stopped, because he could still remember the strange, icy feeling that had went through his body upon reading the Ministry's hastily scribbled orders, orders stating to kill every Muggle they could. Shaking it off, he continued in a slightly more subdued tone, " includes Muggles. Ministry orders state we must kill as many Muggles as possible. A special Ministry team is being gathered together and sent in. But it's too big a job. We have to kill every Muggle we can. Especially newspaper workers and reporters. Destroy communications equipment when you can. We are not here just to fight the Tide; we are here to cover this up. Let's go."

And so they set off, preparing to make a trap from which Seamus was not prepared to escape.

-

Streets of London. 35 minutes later.

Seamus rechecked the bullets in his Bayonet, and upon seeing that they were all there and accounted for, closed the gun with a resounding snap. He'd had fun, taking potshots at Ministry forces in the area (well, potshots probably wasn't the correct term; when you fire a beam that vaporizes whatever it hits, you can't really call anything a potshot) and he hadn't really had to move from his window position. His spider mount, having long since grown bored with his "stand down" order, was busy eating the cat the former owner had left. By the noises it made, the cat was quite tasty.

As Seamus stood there, waiting for the Purgers to report that they had reached the Thames (the next target on their list; they'd been going through an actual checklist Seamus had drawn up, including all the major landmarks of the city- Big Ben was a major target), he heard many voices raised in a cry.

And below him, hundreds of Ministry soldiers began to run down the streets.

" Oh shit," Seamus thought, as he called to his men and began to shout frantic orders. " Oh shit."

" Men!" he shouted, desperate to get a warning out. " Get out of here! Head to the meadow immediately! Drop what you're doing and run for it! The Ministry just attacked! Run dammit run!"

As Seamus grabbed his mount (who had finished eating the cat and was eyeing the parakeet nearby) he heard screams and shouts from his men.

" What is it?" Seamus shouted.

" We're under attack," one soldier reported. " The west side's blocked off! They got us surrounded!"

" Shit!" Seamus yelled. " Okay, new plan! East side, report in!"

" We're okay... wait, there's Ministry forces incoming! Oh hell, it's knights! We're gonna get overrun!"

" Run for it!" Seamus yelled, and Lady Luck graced him again, because right then the head of the Purgers called in.

" Sir, we have reached the Thames."

" Don't burn the bridges!" Seamus shouted. " Repeat, don't burn the bridges! I have an idea! Men, retreat from your positions! Head for the Thames! Purgers, guard those bridges! I don't care if you light the damn river on fire, just keep the bridges safe! And figure out a way to destroy them on command."

" Sir? What's happening?" the Purger called in. Seamus' helmet was connected to all of the helmets of his men; the Purger's was only connected to those of his unit.

" I don't know, but I'm starting to figure it out," Seamus said bitterly, as more Ministry forces rushed by below. " And it's looking worse and worse as I do."

-

Near Thames of London. Twenty minutes later.

Almost every Purger was a pyromaniac of some form or another. It wasn't something that had been in them at the start- most of them, anyway- but it was something that had been born in them after days of watching flame and fire shoot from their Skullmakers, of smelling smoke and fire and roasting flesh. Any firefighter will tell you that pyromaniacs, despite their penchant for arson, are actually some of the most reliable people in a crisis- they are capable, because of their hunger, of walking into places where even firefighters fear to go, without masks or equipment of any kind, insane grins plastered to their faces, and pulling people out of the flames. There have been many times when the best person for a job is a pyromaniac. They don't like to put the fires out- for obvious reasons- but they are damn good at rescuing others. They are nearly immune to fire, seemingly.

Of course, another part of all this is the knowledge they have of fire. Pyromaniacs obsess over fire, and in the course of their obsession seek to know all they can about their chosen love. Many of them become experts of a sort, knowledgeable about flames of any sort, be they quick burning, slow starting, smoking, or just plain devastating.

The Purgers were no exception. The salvation of the Tide that day lay in the hands of twelve Purgers who had, for some reason or another, carried a little off-duty weapon with them. The off-duty weapon was an incredibly powerful bomb the twelve had developed together off of Skullmaker fluid and dragon acid. The resultant mixture was so violatile it made nitroglycerin look tame in comparison. They'd taken it to Seamus, but he'd declared it too dangerous to use, and so it never became standard Purger equipment. He hadn't banned them from carrying it, however (an accidental oversight that again displayed Seamus' ridiculous capacity for luck) and so they were packing their homemade firebombs in their pockets. When the order came to leave the bridges up, but make them ready to detonate, the Purgers had grinned and volunteered for sapper duty. They got into their positions and waited.

They didn't wait long.

Tide units were pouring in by the hundreds. All of the men were in full flight, seeking to escape the devastating charge. Maven, the mounted warriors of the Ministry, were right behind them, cutting them down. Spear and sickle (for the Ministry, to make their warriors more terrifying in appearance, had given them short, one handed sickle blades) sang a death song as they whirred in the air and cut them down.

The Tide suffered losses of over two thousand from that charge, most of them Dusk Knights. It was a loss Seamus never forgot, and never forgave. It was also one that he took personally; from that day forward, Leehalt was his number one enemy.

As Seamus and his men charged across the bridges, the Purgers waited, small vials in their hands. And when the last of their men were across, the Purgers put the vials on the ground, twisted them once, and ran like hell.

-

Air over Thames, same time.

" We're not quite for sure what we're seeing- it looks like knights on horseback down there! They're cutting into the black armored soldiers- ah, wait- the black armors are moving across the bridge! They're retreating... the grey armors have done it! They've pushed the black armors away from London... looks like the black armors are trying to escape the city. Oh, wait, wait... London special forces have approached! Tanks are waiting for them! They're shooting at the black armors... yes, yes, it's a slaughter, folks, a real slaughter! Hey, wait- the weapons are jamming... what the hell is going on? What are those, meteors? The hell is going on?"

Dan McDale stopped for a breath, then kept rattling on.

" The black armors are still running... doesn't look like they want to fight all that bad. They're trying to get away from the bridges... holy SHIT!"

The bridges went up in a flare of white light. Along with them went over three thousand Ministry troops.

And as the pieces fell, Dan continued his report.

" Oh my God... the bridges are gone, the grey armors just got wiped out... oh my God... there's a few left, they're just standing there, dazed... looks like the grey armors throughout the city are falling back... they're all leaving... the black armors have disappeared. I don't know where they are... can't see them..."

-

Seamus stood with his men in a magically protected grove that kept them from the sight and sound of others. All of them were weary and weak.

" How many?" Seamus asked fearfully, afraid of the answer but having to know. " How many did we lose?"

" Two whole squadrons," a field commander choked out, tears already gathering in his eyes. " Oh no. Two whole squadrons." He fell to weeping.

" More than that," another said. " I know we lost a lot to the Muggle troops... until we got close enough to disrupt them, they shot us all to hell."

" Men," Seamus said, " never forget who died here. Never forget what we just went through. And never, ever stop making them pay."

A muffled cry of answer went through the group.

" We lost many, and did little," Seamus said, turning his head as the reality of his losses swept over him, " but we can make them pay. The dead cannot revenge themselves. We must."

" For vengeance."

The Fifteenth Marauder Division had lost over half of it's members. Each of them stood up when they heard Seamus' weak but strong sigh for vengeance. And each said it to themselves, lowly at first, then stronger, but never louder than a whisper.

" For vengeance. For vengeance. For vengeance."

The Fifteenth Marauder Division had made a pact with itself. The Division which would soon be known as "Hell's Kings" had just begun it's darker, second life.

And ever afterward, even years after the war was over, each member of the Fifteenth Division would gather together on this day, July 23rd, and repeat to themselves these words:

" For vengeance."

- See you guys later. And remember: Leave my religion alone! I'll accept comments such as "glad you're through with that" or something (even if I disagree) but one more attack and it's through! I'll make an exception for new reviewers who have yet to read this chapter, but everybody else should leave me alone.  
See ya all. 


	31. The Fall of London and Veil's Burning

Hello everyone. For those going "Huh" and reading this, hear me out: I decided, after a great deal of thinking, that deciding to cancel Harry's Madness was a simple way to take care of my problems. However, SilverDagger, who is still bothering me, has pissed me off. And a note to you, by the by: I can delete anonymous reviews, or simply decide to quit accepting them. And if you decide to get another pen name, I can simply block that. I've decided to simply ignore you. I will delete you whenever you appear, not grace you by answering your questions, nor will I take any action that can be construed as "noticing" you. I believe that you are a very attention-starved, ignorant little boy who cannot leave others alone and who has a bad time doing anything himself. Because of that fact, you pick on others who _have_ built something, and attempt to tear it down. The words in your last review fit quite well with that image. Henceforth, my best revenge will be to simply ignore you. Without the fame you apparently need so badly, you will fall, crumble, and eventually leave me alone. Even if you do not, it will only take me a few minutes of my time to delete your comments/e-mails/block you/whatever I have to do, and then go on with my life. I may need to thank you, oddly enough; you made me mad enough to realize that canceling Harry's Madness was the simple way out. So, thanks, asshole. However, there was nothing "cowardly" in the act; it was merely a simple, expedient way to get rid of you. It was not, however, the honorable path, which takes into account everyone who has either supported me in this debate or been neutral to the issue entirely. So, I'll remember them and forget you.

And if you plan on calling down on me, think again. I'm leaving your little anonymous review up, because it provides rather damning evidence of harassment and general misdeeds. If nothing else, it proves that you were being a small, unjustifiable little person rather than a man. So, if you seek to call the cops, remember: I've got a lot better case than you do.

As for the others, I will no longer be answering individual reviews, unless the question sticks in my head for some reason, or the reviewer is a friend of mine. If a question is asked in enough reviews, however, I will answer it as best I can without giving away storyline details.

An example of this is Harry's Jester form. I cannot explain it without losing a great deal of the storyline; there is a scene, coming up near the end of the story, in which it will be revealed. I cannot tell you anything else, but suffice to say that it will probably shock you.

Enough of that. It's...

"SHOWTIME"

Chapter 26

The Fall of London and The Burning of The Veil

All over the world. July 24, English time, morning.

There are some times in human history when someone was in the right place, at the right time, with the right equipment and the right mindset, to do a great thing. There are the Roosevelts and Lincolns, guiding us toward a better future; there are the writers and the poets, who have captured the heart of a nation and written it down in words; there are artists, who in the blink of an eye see an ordinary, everyday scene that told a story and from that eyeblink draw forth a masterpiece that will last for decades. There is little more to it than that; no Fate, no guiding hand, just mere coincidence and the choices that people make that decide the course of our history and the course of our lives. There have been times when slaves have held destiny in their hands; there have been times when the simple act of choosing which wine to drink had a profound effect on human history. The results and consequences cannot be dreamed of at the time of the act; but one must choose anyway whether one will do something or whether one will not. Such choices carry great weight, whether they are courses of action or inaction. Anything, no matter how small, effects everything, no matter how big. As a physicist once put it: If a butterfly flaps its wings in Peking, weather in New York will be different.

Of course, the consequences, though never fully guessed, can be predicted. And anyone could see what the Ministry's choice would do. After all, they already had one highly critical reporter in their lands. And what would he do with this?...

What would he do?

-

From " The Daily Prophet", Front Page, July 24 Special Edition, in the year 1 J.R. (Jester's Rise).

"SLAUGHTER IN LONDON"

"Readers, I have something to report to you today. It saddens me greatly to do it; but this is my duty, and I shall not shirk it. No matter what the cost, no matter what the horror, I must tell you what has happened in our world."

"London is dying. There are no ifs, no ands, no buts. Our Ministry, in whom we have placed so much faith, suffered a crisis yesterday, at the hands of the Black Tide. The Tide assaulted London. And during that assault, Muggle after Muggle saw them. The Ministry sent in a special team to Memory Charm them, but there were too many. So what did our kind and gracious Ministry do"

"It slaughtered them. It killed them, by the hundreds. By the thousands. It cast spell after spell, destroyed building after building, and when it was all said and done they easily Memory Charmed the few survivors. Even now, the Muggle World is astir, as rivers of fresh crimson flow down the streets of London. The blood of babes is now on the Ministry's hands."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I can no longer serve a government in which I do not believe. This is my last call."

"Ye who hear me, trust me now. We must stop them."

"Or the next blood on their hands... will be yours."

"Alexander Ceras, Former Reporter for the Daily Prophet."

Approximately one hour after this piece was released, Alexander Ceras was found in his apartment by Ministry forces, packing up to leave (his destination was listed as the White Shore by the Ministry officials, but in reality it was the Tide and his boss, Harry). He was caught, charged, and thrown in jail on grounds of treason and insubordination against the government. Three hours later, he was let free by the jailer, who had read his piece over twelve times, finally deciding in the end that the best thing he could do right now was to free Alexander and help him in any way he could. Alexander fled the scene, the unnamed jailer with him. The jailer was eventually shot and killed by Ministry archers, after the initial alarm went out that Alexander was escaping. Alexander himself escaped, vaulting over a wall and disappearing into the countryside. Within days, he was back at a printer, and copies of the very first issue of _Underground Hope _became available to the public at no charge at all. Of course, when the rebel movement began to grow, they had to charge for each issue; after all, you can't run an army on empty coffers.

But that came later.

-

CNN News, July 24, 12:00 p.m.

" More on the story of the unusual crisis that struck London yesterday. Apparently, there are several conflicting stories... oddly, these stories seem as if they fall into geographic lines. Those residents coming from one side of the Thames state that strange black-armored soldiers that looked like medieval knights were the culprits, along with a second group of gray armored knights. Residents on the opposite bank find the idea preposterous and state that such lies will only worsen the great tragedy that has already swept through London and that those spreading such lies should be ashamed. These residents believe that some strange fire broke out and, in eerie mimicry of the Great Fire that once destroyed the city, consumed most of the area in flames. Authorities have no leads but believe that some form of explosion occured here, possibly because of stored fuel tanks. Yet this does not explain the large number of strange corpses found at the scene, some wearing black and gray armor. We'll keep you posted, so leave it here on CNN, the world's biggest..."

-

Fox News Network, July 24, 12:44 p.m.

" This just in. We go to London, where our special reporter, Johnathan Fawkes, is reporting. John"

" I must tell you, Rick, a lot's happened in London while you were gone. As you know, a massive fire swept through London leaving behind a huge bloodwake of destruction in it's path. (Though this is off the subject, the reporter eventually got good reviews from his superiors for the word "bloodwake", which eventually got absorbed into the American consciousness as a word for the trail any large and destructive force- like an army, for example- leaves behind itself). However, new reports are unearthing strange sights- men and women clothed in armor, huge spider-like carcasses, horses in full battle dress. And even more distressing is the attack on the workers at the scene a few minutes ago, when a large spider thing much like the already found corpses attacked rescue workers attempting to pull an old woman out of a hole in the ground. The spider was eventually shot dead, but that in and of itself reveals a strange power that seems to be working over poor brokenhearted London. Pistols will work, our sources say, but shotguns and rifles refuse to fire, and automatic weapons are out of the question. Likewise, cars tend to shut down when driven near the destroyed area, forcing workers to use hand drawn carts to carry off the dead and the wounded. GPS and certain cell phones still work, yet most other equipment falters and fails long before it reaches the "dead zone", as some people are calling it. Radios will work for short transmissions, and it is these that the police are using to coordinate the rescue efforts. The death toll is already at thirty thousand and is expected to rise. This is the worst disaster to befall England in years, ever since the..."

-

Jester's Keep, Oceania. Same time.

Harry flicked off the Muggle television. Hmm. Interesting.

He turned to Seamus, who sat near him.

" Your ploy worked" he said.

Seamus mumbled something.

Harry sighed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. " Seamus. Don't take this personally. This is war. You're bound to lose some people."

Seamus shook his head. He had aged years in a day. " But so many..."

" It is not too many. Look! Already the Ministry's actions have swelled our ranks. We have received double what we lost. Just because many died does not mean that all have died."

" You can say that with ease" Seamus said. " You are not with them everyday. You are an abstract figure to the troops- you're the dark hero, the tragic king, the laughing jester who knows no bounds and dances in your black lit castle, summoning to yourself all the lost and disenchanted souls of the world. You're a figurehead, my friend."

Harry looked at him but said nothing.

" I, on the other hand, am someone they can look at and talk to. I am down there with them constantly, fighting beside them, working beside them, training beside them. I am more than their commander; I am their friend. I'm someone they can look at and argue with, someone whom they can deal with on a non-legendary scale. The enemy calls me the Black General" and here a ghost of a smile flickered onto Seamus' face"but truth be told, to the troops I'm just General Seamus. I'm just the boss. I'm not... supposed to be an executioner..."

Here he shook his head. " It's hard, Harry. Very hard."

Harry sighed. " Seamus, the road ahead will contain many deaths and battles just like the one you fought. You have carried me through the most dangerous time for the Tide. And... if you do not think that you can take it anymore... you can resign with full honors and pride of place. You can become a military advisor and remove yourself from it all, if you wish. You are my friend, Seamus, and I do not want to see you fall."

Seamus looked at Harry and surprised him by saying" No."

" Are you sure" Harry said. " I meant everything I just said."

" I know you did" Seamus said" but I cannot resign. Not yet There are... things I must do..." Seamus shook his head. " I can't back down now. How cowardly would I be, if I resigned now, just when things were getting hard? You say that I've carried you across the dangerous part... but I say that the danger has just begun. With all the things that are starting up now... I can't afford to back down." He looked at Harry and nodded. " So I'll keep fighting, not for the glory or power in it, but because it's the right thing to do." Seamus looked down at the floor, then chuckled. " Right thing to do. If there was ever a saying I never thought I'd use again..."

Harry grinned too. " Yeah. I hear that."

The two turned and walked out of the room.

-R and R please (although knowing you guys, I don't really need to tell you that...)


	32. And the World Turns

Hello everyone. For those going "Huh" and reading this, hear me out: I decided, after a great deal of thinking, that deciding to cancel Harry's Madness was a simple way to take care of my problems. However, SilverDagger, who is still bothering me, has pissed me off. And a note to you, by the by: I can delete anonymous reviews, or simply decide to quit accepting them. And if you decide to get another pen name, I can simply block that. I've decided to simply ignore you. I will delete you whenever you appear, not grace you by answering your questions, nor will I take any action that can be construed as "noticing" you. I believe that you are a very attention-starved, ignorant little boy who cannot leave others alone and who has a bad time doing anything himself. Because of that fact, you pick on others who _have_ built something, and attempt to tear it down. The words in your last review fit quite well with that image. Henceforth, my best revenge will be to simply ignore you. Without the fame you apparently need so badly, you will fall, crumble, and eventually leave me alone. Even if you do not, it will only take me a few minutes of my time to delete your comments/e-mails/block you/whatever I have to do, and then go on with my life. I may need to thank you, oddly enough; you made me mad enough to realize that canceling Harry's Madness was the simple way out. So, thanks, asshole. However, there was nothing "cowardly" in the act; it was merely a simple, expedient way to get rid of you. It was not, however, the honorable path, which takes into account everyone who has either supported me in this debate or been neutral to the issue entirely. So, I'll remember them and forget you.

And if you plan on calling down on me, think again. I'm leaving your little anonymous review up, because it provides rather damning evidence of harassment and general misdeeds. If nothing else, it proves that you were being a small, unjustifiable little person rather than a man. So, if you seek to call the cops, remember: I've got a lot better case than you do.

As for the others, I will no longer be answering individual reviews, unless the question sticks in my head for some reason, or the reviewer is a friend of mine. If a question is asked in enough reviews, however, I will answer it as best I can without giving away storyline details.

An example of this is Harry's Jester form. I cannot explain it without losing a great deal of the storyline; there is a scene, coming up near the end of the story, in which it will be revealed. I cannot tell you anything else, but suffice to say that it will probably shock you.

Enough of that. It's...

"SHOWTIME"

Chapter 26

And The World Turns

All over the world. July 24, English time, morning.

There are some times in human history when someone was in the right place, at the right time, with the right equipment and the right mindset, to do a great thing. There are the Roosevelts and Lincolns, guiding us toward a better future; there are the writers and the poets, who have captured the heart of a nation and written it down in words; there are artists, who in the blink of an eye see an ordinary, everyday scene that told a story and from that eyeblink draw forth a masterpiece that will last for decades. There is little more to it than that; no Fate, no guiding hand, just mere coincidence and the choices that people make that decide the course of our history and the course of our lives. There have been times when slaves have held destiny in their hands; there have been times when the simple act of choosing which wine to drink had a profound effect on human history. The results and consequences cannot be dreamed of at the time of the act; but one must choose anyway whether one will do something or whether one will not. Such choices carry great weight, whether they are courses of action or inaction. Anything, no matter how small, effects everything, no matter how big. As a physicist once put it: If a butterfly flaps its wings in Peking, weather in New York will be different.

Of course, the consequences, though never fully guessed, can be predicted. And anyone could see what the Ministry's choice would do. After all, they already had one highly critical reporter in their lands. And what would he do with this?...

What would he do?

-

From " The Daily Prophet", Front Page, July 24 Special Edition, in the year 1 J.R. (Jester's Rise).

"SLAUGHTER IN LONDON"

"Readers, I have something to report to you today. It saddens me greatly to do it; but this is my duty, and I shall not shirk it. No matter what the cost, no matter what the horror, I must tell you what has happened in our world."

"London is dying. There are no ifs, no ands, no buts. Our Ministry, in whom we have placed so much faith, suffered a crisis yesterday, at the hands of the Black Tide. The Tide assaulted London. And during that assault, Muggle after Muggle saw them. The Ministry sent in a special team to Memory Charm them, but there were too many. So what did our kind and gracious Ministry do"

"It slaughtered them. It killed them, by the hundreds. By the thousands. It cast spell after spell, destroyed building after building, and when it was all said and done they easily Memory Charmed the few survivors. Even now, the Muggle World is astir, as rivers of fresh crimson flow down the streets of London. The blood of babes is now on the Ministry's hands."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I can no longer serve a government in which I do not believe. This is my last call."

"Ye who hear me, trust me now. We must stop them."

"Or the next blood on their hands... will be yours."

"Alexander Ceras, Former Reporter for the Daily Prophet."

Approximately one hour after this piece was released, Alexander Ceras was found in his apartment by Ministry forces, packing up to leave (his destination was listed as the White Shore by the Ministry officials, but in reality it was the Tide and his boss, Harry). He was caught, charged, and thrown in jail on grounds of treason and insubordination against the government. Three hours later, he was let free by the jailer, who had read his piece over twelve times, finally deciding in the end that the best thing he could do right now was to free Alexander and help him in any way he could. Alexander fled the scene, the unnamed jailer with him. The jailer was eventually shot and killed by Ministry archers, after the initial alarm went out that Alexander was escaping. Alexander himself escaped, vaulting over a wall and disappearing into the countryside. Within days, he was back at a printer, and copies of the very first issue of _Underground Hope _became available to the public at no charge at all. Of course, when the rebel movement began to grow, they had to charge for each issue; after all, you can't run an army on empty coffers.

But that came later.

-

CNN News, July 24, 12:00 p.m.

" More on the story of the unusual crisis that struck London yesterday. Apparently, there are several conflicting stories... oddly, these stories seem as if they fall into geographic lines. Those residents coming from one side of the Thames state that strange black-armored soldiers that looked like medieval knights were the culprits, along with a second group of gray armored knights. Residents on the opposite bank find the idea preposterous and state that such lies will only worsen the great tragedy that has already swept through London and that those spreading such lies should be ashamed. These residents believe that some strange fire broke out and, in eerie mimicry of the Great Fire that once destroyed the city, consumed most of the area in flames. Authorities have no leads but believe that some form of explosion occured here, possibly because of stored fuel tanks. Yet this does not explain the large number of strange corpses found at the scene, some wearing black and gray armor. We'll keep you posted, so leave it here on CNN, the world's biggest..."

-

Fox News Network, July 24, 12:44 p.m.

" This just in. We go to London, where our special reporter, Johnathan Fawkes, is reporting. John"

" I must tell you, Rick, a lot's happened in London while you were gone. As you know, a massive fire swept through London leaving behind a huge bloodwake of destruction in it's path. (Though this is off the subject, the reporter eventually got good reviews from his superiors for the word "bloodwake", which eventually got absorbed into the American consciousness as a word for the trail any large and destructive force- like an army, for example- leaves behind itself). However, new reports are unearthing strange sights- men and women clothed in armor, huge spider-like carcasses, horses in full battle dress. And even more distressing is the attack on the workers at the scene a few minutes ago, when a large spider thing much like the already found corpses attack rescue workers attempting to pull an old woman out of a hole in the ground. The spider was eventually shot dead, but that in and of itself reveals a strange power that seems to be working over poor brokenhearted London. Pistols will work, our sources say, but shotguns and rifles refuse to fire, and automatic weapons are out of the question. Likewise, cars tend to shut down when driven near the destroyed area, forcing workers to use hand drawn carts to carry off the dead and the wounded. GPS and certain cell phones still work, yet most other equipment falters and fails long before it reaches the "dead zone", as some people are calling it. Radios will work for short transmissions, and it is these that the police are using to coordinate the rescue efforts. The death toll is already at thirty thousand and is expected to rise. This is the worst disaster to befall England in years, ever since the..."

-

Jester's Keep, Oceania. Same time.

Harry flicked off the Muggle television. Hmm. Interesting.

He turned to Seamus, who sat near him.

" Your ploy worked" he said.

Seamus mumbled something.

Harry sighed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. " Seamus. Don't take this personally. This is war. You're bound to lose some people."

Seamus shook his head. He had aged years in a day. " But so many..."

" It is not too many. Look! Already the Ministry's actions have swelled our ranks. We have received double what we lost. Just because many died does not mean that all have died."

" You can say that with ease" Seamus said. " You are not with them everyday. You are an abstract figure to the troops- you're the dark hero, the tragic king, the laughing jester who knows no bounds and dances in your black lit castle, summoning to yourself all the lost and disenchanted souls of the world. You're a figurehead, my friend."

Harry looked at him but said nothing.

" I, on the other hand, am someone they can look at and talk to. I am down there with them constantly, fighting beside them, working beside them, training beside them. I am more than their commander; I am their friend. I'm someone they can look at and argue with, someone whom they can deal with on a non-legendary scale. The enemy calls me the Black General" and here a ghost of a smile flickered onto Seamus' face"but truth be told, to the troops I'm just General Seamus. I'm just the boss. I'm not... supposed to be an executioner..."

Here he shook his head. " It's hard, Harry. Very hard."

Harry sighed. " Seamus, the road ahead will contain many deaths and battles just like the one you fought. You have carried me through the most dangerous time for the Tide. And... if you do not think that you can take it anymore... you can resign with full honors and pride of place. You can become a military advisor and remove yourself from it all, if you wish. You are my friend, Seamus, and I do not want to see you fall."

Seamus looked at Harry and surprised him by saying" No."

" Are you sure" Harry said. " I meant everything I just said."

" I know you did" Seamus said" but I cannot resign. Not yet There are... things I must do..." Seamus shook his head. " I can't back down now. How cowardly would I be, if I resigned now, just when things were getting hard? You say that I've carried you across the dangerous part... but I say that the danger has just begun. With all the things that are starting up now... I can't afford to back down." He looked at Harry and nodded. " So I'll keep fighting, not for the glory or power in it, but because it's the right thing to do." Seamus looked down at the floor, then chuckled. " Right thing to do. If there was ever a saying I never thought I'd use again..."

Harry grinned too. " Yeah. I hear that."

The two turned and walked out of the room.

-R and R please (although knowing you guys, I don't really need to tell you that...)


	33. Moves in High Places

Hey everyone. Been a while, huh? But I've been gone on a trip to New York, so I haven't had time to write. However, I do now have the time, so I'll continue after saying this: New Yorkers are much nicer people in real life then I'd have ever thought. I must say, I was impressed by how the Big Apple contained so few worms.

That, and Staten Island has the most confusing road system in the U.S. But that's beside the point.

"SHOWTIME"

Chapter 27

Moves in High Places

An Arbiter's Home, Oceania, July 25th, 10:00 p.m.

Dean turned to the girl in the door and said" Come in, if you want." His voice was shaky. The pimple-faced teenage Wizard was almost over-confident in his role as Arbiter, dealing out the Jester's Law swiftly and efficiently, and it was said that he was one of the best Arbiters in Oceania, but when it came to women, he was still like a child, fearful and hesitant. Of course, the woman before him would have made even the most experienced seducers feel a bit light on their feet; she was a knockout if there ever was one. Dean had no idea why she had ever even talked to him- as mentioned before, he wasn't all that handsome, and the pimples on his face resisted the best efforts of magic and science to clean- but she had agreed to see him about a week ago, and now it had led to this. Dean was still a virgin, and he could think of no better person to lose that prestige to than this girl. Nilette... her very name was beautiful.

Tonks, standing in the door, kept reminding herself that she must do this, for the Ministry. The only way she was ever going to get close enough to Harry to seduce him was by getting near the top of Tide hierarchy. Arbiters, being both newly formed and run by one of Harry's best friends, were the fastest way she could get there. The boy before her knew Ginny, and she regarded him as one of the wisest advisors she'd ever had. If she could convince him to let her get inside the Jester's Keep, she could go to Harry and charm him with this body she'd made...

But, gods, why did she have to do this? What horrific Fate had conspired against her, to reduce her to this, to a whore of a girl? Why did she have to suffer like this, be forced to "serve" the Ministry on her back, when she could be out there, standing beside her fellow Aurors, holding her head high while on the world destroyed itself around them, spells of death and power flying through the air...

Seeing Nilette stop in the doorway and shudder, Dean asked" What's wrong" It was dark, and he did not see the tears that slid down her face.

" Nothing" she replied, in a voice that was far too broken from unreleased tears to pass as that of a girl about to have sex with someone she liked. Tonks cursed herself for her slip, and knew that any second now, the boy before her would figure out that something was up. The people of the Tide were young, but far from stupid.

Dean's virginity and inexperience with women, however, worked in her favor this time; Dean did not find her voice tearful, but rather husky and sexy. With an erection rapidly growing in his pants, Dean said" Then let's sit down, shall we" He moved to the bed and sat down rather easily (for obvious reasons), and patted the side of the bed. His face was open and eager.

Tonks stepped into the room to fulfill her duty.

She thought she heard laughter.

-

Jester's Keep, Oceania, England, July 30th. 1:00 p.m.

In his guise as the Jester (his preferred form when dealing with his people), Harry nodded to his servants from his throne, listening to and judging the various laws, bills, and wishes that were brought to him by the Arbiters. One of them, a bill proposed by a young lieutanant named Shawn, particularly intrigued him; it stated that criminals charged with murder or rape would be used as test subjects for the Tide. Up until this point, murderers and rapists were summarily executed (murderers by decapitation, rapists by having their penises and groin area cut out of their bodies with a knife) but as test subjects they would be infinitely more useful. Harry thanked the lieutanant, who snapped a proud salute back at Harry, and said that the matter would be considered later. Harry had a habit of taking most bills to the Ebony Flame, where he and the others argued over their various merits and detractions, finally deciding on a "final" copy that would be passed and made into law. The Writ of Law was being added to daily, and one high-ranking Arbiter once joked that pretty soon, the Tide really would be a country- complete with confusing laws. Harry privately agreed with him, but he was doing his best to prevent the absurdities and madness that always seem to arrive whenever law is made. Of course, Harry himself didn't have to deal with these things; Ginny, as Lord Arbiter, and the lesser Arbiters beneath her dealt with all that. A supreme court of sorts, called the Order of Arbiters, had been created, and it was swamped with problems, most of them from the laws on taxes, which Harry had just instated a few days ago. The sheer number of people who had attempted to dodge taxes was staggering; Neville had told Harry rather dryly that those who paid taxes were the exception rather than the rule. Harry had been afraid a civil war would start over it; but the flood of evasions slowed to a trickle as the Arbiters dealt swift and sure punishment. The punishment of being sent to the Boneyards to work for the Necromancers for three months was more than enough to scare most people into paying their gold. Ginny had given strict orders that workers at the Boneyards were not to be harmed in any way; the Boneyards were scary enough to those who were unused to it, and Harry did not want to be seen as a monster. A humiliating but not directly harmful punishment was enough to put people back on the right track and keep their goodwill.

Besides, there were enough dead things at the Boneyards already.

As Harry nodded to a group of Elementalists who had proposed a bill to move the Orb of Fire from it's position in the Keep to a building outside (the bill would never get to the Flame; Harry had already shot it down in his mind) and watched them leave, an Arbiter walked up, bowing to Harry as he approached. Harry's attentions, however, were entirely diverted by the girl on his arm.

She was stunning. Period. There was no other way to describe her- she was simply the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Her hair fell like some cascading rush of fire down a mountain far off and away. Her eyes were the deepest green he had ever seen, and looking at them (or into them, for wasn't she staring him in the eye too?) was like gazing down a forest alley lined with trees, going off into infinity. She was wearing a green, low-cut silk dress, and when she bowed, Harry caught a tantalizing glimpse of the flesh of her breasts; smooth, light freckles that seemed almost to tease and taunt the eyes and the hands, swaying slightly as she moved, big, but firm rather than saggy, perfect in every way. When she rose up, he looked at her figure and saw in her the very essence and perfection of a woman, hips wide, legs long, thin where she should be and thick where it counted. She was perfect.

Dean, who had no idea that the Jester King was eyeing his girl, opened his mouth and began speaking. Harry ignored him; his words were unimportant. She was important. She stared him right in the eye, and though Harry had thought himself immune to all a woman's charms, he found himself falling now. Falling hard. He had often seen pretty women, and he had always privately disliked them for the snobbish, elitist attitude they seemed to take with all the world. But this one... she smiled, she was open, honest, and she apparently liked the man on her arm very much, despite the way he looked. (In the throes of lust, Harry forgot that Dean was the highest ranking Arbiter not on the Order, and that there were many women who would be more than happy to like him if it meant they got a chance to be by his side and next to all the power he represented.) She was everything he could have asked for, and more.

Dean finished, and Harry was able to say" It will be considered" before too much time elapsed and anyone noticed anything. Everyone assumed he'd been mulling it over (wearing the Jester mask, no one had seen his face and few had noticed where his eyes had been) and promptly forgot about it. Most of the men in the room were busy watching Tonks.

Dean nodded, and turned to leave. The girl, smiling, left with him, and they began pleasantly chatting as they exited out the doors of the main hall. Her voice was light and tinged with laughter- a voice he wanted to hear moan with pleasure, preferably in his ear.

Some hours later, court was finished, and Harry retired to his private room. There, he and Cho made love, as they were wont to do (Susannah Bones had not been that far off in her guess about Harry's hormones), but he found himself unable to climax for a long while, wishing she was here and not Cho. Cho noticed and asked what was wrong, and he merely said it was stress and the work in court... she snuggled to his face and kissed him, and said that he should rest more. He agreed with her and pretended to fall asleep, and she soon began dreaming. Harry raised up when he was sure she was out of it and walked to the window of their small private room at the top of the Keep. He looked out on the world, and shook his head. He had seen perfection, and now nothing less would do for him.

Cho just didn't interest him anymore. No one could, save for her.

He watched as five o' clock rolled around.

-

South of Durmstrang, the shore of Greenland, July 30, 5:30 p.m.

Ron scratched his head as he and his men finished completing a new section of the dock they were building. The destroyer _Sea Lion_, renamed by the White Shore as the _W.S.O.F._(which stood for "White Shore Ocean Force") _Blizzard Gale_, was currently floating in the only other dock they'd managed to complete. Considering that the entire White Shore navy consisted of the _Blizzard Gale_ and nothing else, the port wasn't small at all. In fact, it was twice as large as it needed to be.

Old Grim snorted. His sense of humor was quite dry, really, and tended towards sarcasm. It drove Hermione crazy, sometimes. But that was just the way he was, now. A dry sense of humor wasn't all that much to change, when the whole world was shifting and turning under the incredible forces now walking the land. Better this than the catastrophic changes in so many of his brethren around the world, that fatal slip and slide down into the dark maw of nothingness, the nothingness upon which Harry Potter fed and lived and breathed. No, a change in one's sense of humor was not too drastic, compared to everything else that was going on.

The shore wasn't as icy and bleak as the inner parts of Greenland were- not by a long shot- but they were still cold, and Ron drew his fur cape tighter about himself as the wind blasted through in another roaring gale. One of his men looked up and yelled" It's finished, sir! Last piece in place"

" Good" Ron shouted back. " Let's get back to the bears, then."

The men turned and began heading towards the great bears upon which they had put their packs and the equipment necessary to build the new section of the dock. The docks were in a very out of the way place that, up until about a month ago, had been covered in ice. Once the _Bleak Anchor_ had captured the Ministry vessel _Sea Lion_, however, the troops had come down here and, with the help of some of the great monsters of the ocean that the Beastkeepers summoned (Ron had watched as an enormous _thing_, something barely glimpsed beneath the surface of the ice covering the water surface, bucked once underneath the ice and shattered the frigid coldness above it into tiny icebergs and chunks of frost), remade it into a port. Ron and his men had figured out how to keep the water warm by casting an Everburn spell, which created a ball of fire in the middle of the waters. The spell had taken an enormous toll on its casters (seventy three in all; it had been a powerful spell), but the spell had been designed so that it was easy to maintain once started. Now, twenty people stayed here at all times, maintaining the spell that kept the "seasun" (as some were calling it) burning in the waters. Other than these people, in a small underground barracks nearby, no one stayed here. That would change later, as the White Shore began to depend more and more on its naval force to keep it in the war; but for now, there were only twenty people, who would all be coming back with the bears. Every month, Ron and a team of workers came out here carrying both the equipment to continue working on the docks and twenty fresh people to replace those who had spent an entire month down here keeping the flame burning. Once the torch was passed (so to speak), the twenty who had been here came back with Ron and his team, and the new twenty settled in for a month out here. No one, not even Voldemort (who, of the groups involved in the war, had the greatest resources when it came to intelligence) knew of its existence here.

The port had been nicknamed "Cape Ass Freeze" by the troops. It was a fitting name, Ron thought; along with everything else, his ass was indeed cold.

Walking back to the bears, Ron suppressed another smirk.

-R R please!


	34. Victory and Loss

I know I said I'd make no individual reviews (mostly for my own sake of mind, not yours) I do have to give a big shout-out to a reviewer who finally figured out the one mistake I've made that glares at me from time to time- in the chapter where Padma kills Tesla (Breaking the Bank, I believe, is the name of the chapter) I put that the key to open the Element Orbs to the world was a key that could only be opened if _Tesla was holding it_. But Padma clearly opens the vault without Tesla's hand on the key! It's the one mistake I myself know about that really, really glares at me (with the exception of the Hogwarts/Diagon Alley thing, it's pretty much my biggest mistake) but up until now, no one has caught it... save for one reviewer. I hate to do it, but... ten points!

Well, now that I can rest assured that at least _one_ other person has found my mistake (it was honestly making me wonder if anyone actually _reads_ my fanfic...) I can continue on. It's...

"SHOWTIME"

Chapter 28

Victory and Loss

Jester's Keep, Oceania, 3:00 p.m., Aug. 3 , First Year of the War of the Long Twilight.

Harry sat on his throne and brooded. He did not want to brood; but he had to brood. Without doing something, he would simply tear himself apart with his own ravening needs. As Harry sat there, glum and sullen, he tried to take his mind off the object of his affections (_Nilette_, part of his mind whispered, _Nilette_) and instead thought of what everyone else was doing.

Seamus was down in Europe, somewhere near Spain, attacking the Ministry's biggest single harbor. The harbor, called MuddlingDale, was usually so well-defended that it would be suicide to go near it, much less attack it; but with the events in London, it was now a free-for-all, and Seamus intended to reap as much benefit from it as possible. He was doing a good job of it, too; his timing was perfect. Had he struck too soon after the attack on London, the Ministry's attention would not be so caught up in the aftermath that they could not fight back. Had he struck too late, they would have been returning from dealing with it, which could have caught him with his pants down, so to speak. (Caught up as he was in getting Nilette off his mind, Harry did not even realize the sexual innuendo in that last statement). Now, however, was the perfect time, because the Ministry's forces were all centered around London. MuddlingDale Harbor was open and waiting for Seamus to put it to the flame.

Padma was off screwing around somewhere in France, building up fortifications around Lunas, or some other such thing. Fleur had been complaining recently about the lack of defenses Lunas possessed, so Padma had went down there to stop her orgasmic screaming.

Harry shook his head. Damn. Everything he was thinking about kept leading back to sex. He really needed to quit thinking about it; it was going to ruin his life if he didn't stop soon. And he couldn't afford a weakness like this, what with the war and all. But...

She was so _perfect_...

Harry sat on his throne and brooded.

-

Cape Sunsea (a.k.a. Cape Ass Freeze), shore of Greenland, near Durmstrang. Same time.

Sirius Black looked up into the sky. The soldiers, all of whom were very freaked out by his appearance (and all of whom, with the exception of the commander, still thought he was a horrible villain and mass murderer, not being told by Ron and Hermione who he really was), stood around nervously, eyes almost twitching as they looked at each other and back at Sirius, keeping him at sword point, also trying to keep themselves as far back as possible without losing the ability to stab him to death in seconds if he tried anything. Sirius found his less-than-warm welcome somewhat amusing, especially since he'd come up here to help them. Buckbeak, who was currently tethered outside, was pissed at being left out in the cold and was busy letting everyone know, in loud roaring screams, exactly what he thought about all this, and the White Shore too. Sirius wished that his long-term companion would hush- his scratchy, terrifying screams were making the poor soldiers about him even more nervous than they had been before, jumping every time they heard him cry out, sword points jumping with them, which caused Sirius a great deal of worry (he thought, wryly, that they might well kill him by accident, at the rate they were going). Thinking about Buckbeak gave Sirius something to chew over, however.

Buckbeak had followed him, amazingly, and when Sirius had gotten off the train to board the smuggler's boat, Buckbeak had suddenly appeared with him. Paying the smuggler for waiting (hell, it wasn't like Sirius was going to need the money), Sirius told him he was leaving and hopped on Buckbeak. He might have tried to convince Buckbeak to go home, where he should have been in the first place (Sirius was trying his best to protect him) but Sirius had thought that, if Buckbeak was going to be so honorable as to follow his friend, then the least Sirius could do would be to repay his kindness and let him tag along without being bothered by silly little mortal questions. So Sirius hopped on Buckbeak, waved to the bemused smuggler, and took off, hauling ass for the north. A few select spells had kept both of them warm, and soon they'd reached the cold, frozen north. And then they'd gotten challenged, a challenge which had surprised the hell out of Sirius.

" Halt, and land! These are the lands of the White Shore, and you are trespassing upon these frozen grounds! Halt, or the winds themselves will rise up against ye! Halt and land"

Sirius, deciding that it would be a good idea not to piss off the owner of that voice (who sounded more than ready to summon up winds, spears, arrows, and anything else that would take Sirius out of the sky), told Buckbeak to land, and Buckbeak did so, though he was a bit leery of putting himself on the ground (Buckbeak liked the sky- on the ground, he was slightly awkward, despite his horse heritage). When Sirius landed, two White Shore soldiers had walked up, both of them carrying staves and apparently quite adept at working with the cold in their magics. Sirius had felt more than seen the binding prison of extreme cold they'd dumped over both him and Buckbeak. He had warned his companion not to move, telling him that the temperature in the air around them had just been dropped to fatal levels, and moving was going to be a bad idea. Buckbeak, cursing Sirius in his head for a fool, had sullenly complied. The two wizards had taken them to a small, almost nondescript cabin made of some stone-like material, tied Buckbeak outside, then taken Sirius inside (the jail cell of frost following him the whole way) and had the commander call White Shore headquarters. That had been an hour ago. About twenty minutes after his arrival, someone finally recognized him, and ever since then, Sirius had spent most of his time trying to dodge shakily advancing sword points. Sirius thought that he could probably escape without doing one bit of magic- all he'd have to do was scream loudly, and the already badly spooked soldiers might well pass out. Or run him through, Sirius added, noting that though most of them were obviously scared of him, the two wizards who'd dragged him in merely stood by the entrance, one looking in, one looking out, wands at the ready, calm and unafraid. They'd probably take command if Sirius attempted anything, and both of them looked quite prepared to take his life if they had to. Since he wasn't planning on doing anything, Sirius was perfectly content to be in their hands. Not having anything else to do, he scanned the room for the fiftieth time since coming here.

The walls were white, fitting, he guessed, for a group whose first name happened to be that color ("White Shore" still stuck out in Sirius' mind as a ridiculous counter to the highly original- and slightly spooky- name "Black Tide"), and there were few decorations- just a picture here and there of a man or woman, usually smiling or blowing kisses at the camera, which made Sirius guess that these were the boyfriends and girlfriends (or, possibly, husbands and wives- with all that had happened, Sirius wouldn't rule that out) of those gathered here, taken so that they could always be reminded of the ones they cared for, even as far away as this little outpost here. Sirius had seen much the same thing in the First War, with Wizards often packing small pictures of their loves with them. A few small benches (occupied when Sirius entered, empty now as the ones sitting on them leapt up to grab swords and hold them to his throat) were placed against the walls in the room. A small rack of weapons, mostly empty now, completed the room's bare furnishings.

The room had three exits, one leading to the command post (or so Sirius assumed; that was where the commander had come from, anyway) and one leading to what one soldier had said, in a remark to his boss, the "comm room". Sirius figured they had a crystal ball or some other cheap form of short-distance communication here, to quickly reach their bosses in Durmstrang. The third exit was the strangest one- an open doorway, big enough for one human to walk in comfortably (two small humans could possibly squeeze through with mild discomfort on both sides), it led outside, affording a view of the blinding snow that circled all about the encampment. The soldiers looked out it every now and then, as if seeing things out there, but Seamus couldn't make heads or tails of the white all around him. It was blinding, and he couldn't even see Buckbeak (though he could hear him well enough) despite the fact that Buckbeak was not five feet from the door. It wasn't even that the blizzard was that bad; it just reflected the light in such a way that Sirius kept losing track of where his eyes were, as if the light distracted his focus enough to prevent him from ever attaining real sight in the storm. The noise of the wind didn't reach them in here, oddly enough, and no snow entered (or cold, either- it was nice and warm inside), so Sirius guessed that a force field of some sort was in place over the door. Check of room completed, Sirius turned to stare at the wall again.

A few minutes later, there was a noise outside, and the earth shook slightly. The two wizards looked out the door. Sirius strained his eyes, but saw nothing. Moments later, he heard a loud thumping noise, one that was rather rhythmic in intensity, and in a few minutes he figured it out. Footsteps. It was footsteps of something very, very big. Worried that a dragon had just decided to attack the encampment (and believing it to be just his luck if one did), Sirius turned to look out into the storm. Nothing... but... wait...

The form of a mighty bear became visible, almost right next to the door, a great brown bear, aged, with mighty scars running down its flanks. The bear shook, and its entire form became white when it shook- as white as snow. Attached to it was a great harness, made so that it didn't interfere with the bears' natural movements, packs and gear hanging off its sides and rising slowly up the creature's great sides. On top, in a small harness area, a group of riders sat, clothed in robes of purest white that showed nothing of their faces or their forms. They detached and got down, walking in from the cold with no great hurry or no great stateliness. When they got in, the two wizards nodded to them, and said" Sir, we have the prisoner here." The bear-riders turned and nodded at them, and as they did so, Sirius caught a glimpse of two faces. Both seemed familiar, somehow- and yet they were the faces of strangers, too.

The first, a man, had red hair inside the great white robe he wore over everything on him. His face was old and lined- not with wrinkles, but with worry and suffering. Without knowing anything else about him, Sirius immediately thought of the man as "grim". His mouth was set in a tight line. His eyes, which seemed almost shadowed despite the light in the room, were deep and dark. As he stepped inside and threw off his hood, the man seemed almost cut from glass, as if he was not really a man but some being that had been set out in harsh, straight lines and made to walk. Sirius thought the effect commanding, and found himself straightening his posture almost without realizing it.

The second to come in was not a face he thought he recognized, but the third one was- a strange face that reminded him of his only glimpse of the Queen of the Goblins, who, in contrast to the general ugly thorniness of her race, was beautiful- but not beautiful as humans would define it. She looked like all other goblins: long goblin nose, small body, hair sticking out everywhere, body shriveled and seemingly wrinkled, head like a bowling ball... her personality was not even that great, being as short and gruff as most goblins were. And yet, she _was_ beautiful, despite all that... the Queen of the Goblins had simply radiated something, some sort of grandeur that simply caught the eye and made one unaware of pitiful physical differences between the viewed and the viewer and made one realize that something made that person _great_. This woman had that same touch of perfection, of ladyness, about her, and when she looked at him, Sirius felt that same mixture of kindness and strength that the Queen of Goblins had possessed (although, simply for the record, the Queen of Goblins had not been a sweet-natured person at all- Dumbledore, who'd been with Sirius at the time, had cheerfully referred to her afterwards as "Spittooth Sally"- but she had still been kind, in her own fashion, to them) and, with this strange glimpse at another's soul past him, noticed the shocking streak of white hair in curly brown. The woman threw off her hood, and then the rest of the riders- seven in all- took off their hoods, and all attention turned towards him. Sirius, used to being stared at (and this was a lot like the court that had sentenced him to Azkaban, bare room and all), simply looked back at them, not with hostility or worry, but merely waiting.

A moment passed, brief but interminable. Then the one Sirius had thought of as grim smiled, and said" Sirius, it has been a long time."

The other, the lady, smiled too, and said" It's good to see you, Black."

And then the bubble of incomprehension burst over him, and Sirius' heart leapt for joy.

" Ron! Hermione" he shouted, scaring his jailors all over again but taking no notice in the happiness flooding through his veins" I can't believe it! Is it really you"

They nodded. " Yes, Sirius" Hermione said, smiling at him, a smile that was both familiar and far more powerful than the one he remembered. " It's really us."

Ron smiled too, and years washed off his face; he became closer to the laughing, always slightly freaked out lad he once was, and waving his hand with a smile, said" Swords down, men! He's a friend- a good one and a missed one. Welcome to the White Shore, Sirius Black."

Sirius smiled. " I think" he said, for the first time realizing it as truth" that you just welcomed me home."

-

Wizarding Town of MuddlingDale, shores of Spain, Europe, same time.

Seamus, from his position atop his spider mount, stared into the sky. The flames of the town were soaring, as new buildings were consumed, as the lives of all those here was put to the torch- and found good for burning. Flames rose, and the song of the Purgers rose with it, floating above and beyond the carnage like some ancient chant. It was, in its own way, glorifying the slaughter, and Seamus found it funny that evil should have its own choir. He found it so funny, in fact, that he burst out laughing.

He would not laugh like that for a long time, after this night. MuddlingDale was that summer's last victory, and soon General Seamus- and everyone with him- would be desperately, desperately busy trying to stay alive. Time, the great nemesis of the Tide, had caught up to them, and the full brunt and force of the other militaries was soon to be directed at them.

But Seamus did not know that. He turned his face from the burning sky and charged down into the harbor, dragging his men with them, all of them laughing and singing, as the flames roared on.

- R R please!


	35. White Against Might, Part 1

Hey people. Been a while. huh? Oh well. Thanks for all your reviews! And now, it's...

"SHOWTIME"

Harry's Madness

Chapter 29

White against Might

Lashwind Toll, small set of islands off the shore of Greenland, now White Shore territory, several leagues distant from England, 11:00 p.m., Aug. 8, First Year of the War of the Long Twilight.

Ron looked up into the night sky. It was dark up there, bitterly dark, but he thought he still saw some light up there. He smirked. Ah. Stars. The White Shore was weaving a culture around itself (much like the Black Tide was), and that culture seemed to consist entirely of things about stars. Stars, stars, stars, everywhere stars, and for some reason to Ron it all felt right. Stars decorated much of the artwork of the Shore, and the songs being composed invariably had something about stars in them. The people of the White Shore (and they truly were a people now: babies were being born at an astonishing rate, so much so that Durmstrang's Medical Ward was now an impromptu nursery held together by one very much worried Head Nurse) were fascinated by stars. Much of the lost science of Astrology had been unearthed again, and many members of the White Shore were amauter astronomers of one sort or another. At Durmstrang, where an oddly cozy, homely feeling seemed to prevail, a meteor passing overhead was cause for celebration among the soldiers, all going out to set up their telescopes and stare at the skies to see the flaming snowball passing overhead. Ron himself did not participate in such activities; he was usually sharpening his blade while the others were gone, begruding them the time lost through stargazing when they could be practicing and enhancing their fighting ability. Hermione had told him that too much work would drive them to leave; but Ron had pointed out to her (rather coldly) that the individual fighting strength of their men was the one thing they could count on. The Tide's soldiers were naturally savage and evil, and so fought well. The Ministry had so many soldiers they didn't _have_ to fight well. The Shore was the one group who honestly needed to train and train and train. Ron knew, in his heart _knew_, that they didn't yet have the training they needed to take on the other groups. Ron honestly believed that a force of their soldiers, against an equal force of enemy soldiers of either kind, would get slaughtered.

(Unbeknownst to him, the White Shore already trained and drilled 50 more than either of their foes did, and the training and drilling had greatly reinforced individual strength. A single member of the White Shore was so well trained that, in comparison, the bark of a Black Tide soldier was worse than their bite, and the horribly trained Ministry units were even worse off. Still, Ron didn't know this, and maybe it was his insanely intense training that drove the White Shore to such heights of power. In the coming battles, it would serve them well. Oddly, the string of luck for the Shore came at exactly the same time that the string of luck for the Tide left, and the two groups had very different views of that summer and autumn after it was over. The Tide thought it had been horrible and that it was lucky to stay alive; the Shore thought they could mop it up in a month or two. The Shore was wrong.)

Right now, that fear was omnipresent; here they were, heading out in the darkness, to attack a Ministry naval outpost. Ron hoped his soldiers were up to the task. The soldiers themselves, all hunkered down in the single ship the White Shore actually had, were silent (as ordered), and waiting as the ship gently floated along the sea. The Ministry naval post, located on Lashwind Toll (named for the ferocious windstorms that raged upon the island every now and then), was a small, poorly armed place, and the force coming towards it intended to take it quickly and quietly. The Ministry had considered increasing the defenses around Lashwind Toll so that the White Shore would be unable to take it, but the fiasco in London had erupted first, and all Ministry soldiers were busily dealing with the backlash from the burning of the city. Most of the backlash was centered in England, where Alexander Ceras' underground newspaper, the _Underground Hope_, had spurred many into taking up torches and arms against the Ministry, and the fire and flame they wielded had made the Ministry pull troops out of its bases around the world to stop the rebels from smashing up homes, businesses, and (most especially) places of high Ministry business (recruiting posts for Aurors, for example). Committing a mistake of monumental proportions, they had declared all rebels to be "foes to the right and common cause of Wizardry" and had declared that all of them were to be put to the blade. Now outlaws whom Ministry soldiers would kill on sight, the various groups of "rioters" (who were mostly good, naturally peaceful people who suddenly found a rage in their hearts and just had to be rid of it somehow, even if it meant smashing in a window or a storefront, beating it in with their hands or fists or any piece of spare metal they could find) found themselves forced to disappear, most of them into small hidey-holes and safehouses that Alexander Ceras (with the help of Neville Longbottom, who had become the official Black Tide emissary to this heavily-Tide funded army) had constructed for them, and there, they seethed and waited. When the time came, the Tide would let out a clarion call, to one and all, to join the great army and march to eternity together, to wipe out the Ministry once and for all, to finish this land and finish it for the Tide forever... but that time was still a ways off as of yet, and the people, for now, were merely tired, oppressed, and poor.

The Ministry grew ever more and more tyrannical as the days passed on, and some newspapers (none of them government-approved or even tolerated; several of the editors were hanged) declared Susannah Bones the "dictator of the century". A few took some openly pro-Shore or Tide opinions in their pages. They were all soon wiped out. The tales of Ministry knight atrocities (one woman, the editor of the pro-Shore _Water Dreams_, was raped by three supposedly honorable Ministry Maven, and the story became one of Alexander Ceras' biggest selling tactics) became almost unheard of stories amongst the good Wizarding people, who, up until this point, had never had reason to doubt the veracity of their Ministry or the truth of its stories. The Ministry, though desperately propagandering itself to the people, was fighting a losing battle. The power of mouth-to-mouth and ear-to-ear was too much for them, and they were already losing ground.

None of this, of course, was on Ron's mind at the moment. Instead, on that night of Aug. 3. the thing most on his mind was the ability of his soldiers to stand toe-to-toe with the Ministry soldiers and win when things were sword to spear and sickle to fist. Ron hoped they could win.

He was completely surprised by the victory they won that night.

-

The plan was exceedingly simple. One group of warriors, those with Ron on the ship, would land at the port, where the Ministry officials would probably be quite curious as to what the devil an apparently empty ship was doing there. Whenever the men inside the ship heard someone attempt to open the door, they would rush out and take them down. Once done, Ron himself would contact a second group, led by Hermione, who was waiting inside a Thunderbird-generated stormcloud to the north, where, riding upon the _Bleak Anchor_ commanded by Capt. Isaacs (who had been given the command of the ship by Capt. Vustag himself, who had stated that Isaacs was a better leader than he could ever possibly hope to be, and that he would be proud to serve _underneath_ him, which had made Isaacs blush furiously and shrug embarassedly, then make Vustag his first mate on the spot), they would proceed to fly over the encampment and hurl one or two spells at the soldiers below. They were especially aiming for captains and lieutenants, who could be picked out by the brighter clothes they wore. A group of well-placed ice spells would quickly seal off the high command, and two or three thunderbolts would guarantee that the soldiers so attacked did not survive. Afterwards, the last group of warriors, this time headed by another member of the team that had freed Walter Andrews, a small little Wizard from Spain named Pierre, would land from a second airship that was also hiding in the stormcloud, and they would charge the north while Ron and his group hacked their way through the front gates. The goal was to take the port in as best a condition as possible, one reason ice spells were being used; ice spells generally only damaged living flesh and not stone. Still, the White Shore expected some collateral damage, but that was okay. They needed this port, and even the foundations of the buildings would be a great prize, saving them much time on the reconstruction.

And, as the boat sidled up to the port, the battle began for real.

-

Windglean, Ministry outpost on Lashwind Toll, harbor, same time.

The harbor master, a very average man named Jonathan Tomas, was mostly bored, as he sat behind his long white desk and awaited the end of his shift. Nothing much happened up here. Oh, there had been that large shipment of troops up north a while ago (the ill-fated expedition that a certain now-dead member of the Order had cooked up; on a random note, the wolves had eaten everything but Daedulus Diggle's eyes, and they were still rolling around in the wastes somewhere, staring sightlessly at the white nothing that had consumed him and the troops that had went with him) but the eagerly-awaited return of their ships, complete with the new, crying, back-broken children who would be on them (former White Shore members, easily defeated by highly-trained Ministry troops; this was the lie the harbor master had been told and believed when Daedulus Diggle had sailed past him) had never materialized, and so the harbor master regretfully believed that they must have taken a different route going home- too many children on board, perhaps, to risk taking such an out-of-the-way route as this back home. Far from the mainland as they were, they never received many owls from the ministry, and had received no word of the defeat of the troops of north, long ago (relatively speaking) as it was.

Musing that no one ever visited them up here nowadays, the man berated himself for following his father's footsteps and joining the Navy. His father had been a drunk old fool, but even that had not diminished the awe he somehow inspired in Jonathan whenever he saw him in his great black Ministry officer's coat (he was a second gunnery sergeant aboard a battleship, the _Deep Drake_, which survived the burning of England and was later transferred to the White Shore, about two years into the war, and sunk four months later, by a group of Longbottomers- sailors whose story will be told another time). That awe had (in part) spurred Jonathan to become a member of the Navy as well, but unfortunately for him, his last name got him into trouble almost from the start. Nothing was said to the young man (not at the beginning of his training, anyway), but everyone knew his father was a bastard and nobody wanted him to be in a position of leadership at all. His father having been advanced under a series of old, now-discontinued laws regarding senority in leadership positions, the Ministry Navy was determined not to make the same mistakes with Jonathan Tomas Jr. Deciding that a position in the far north would be best, they stuck him as close to Greenland as possible, and here he had stayed, five years having passed since he started work as a seaman and eventually became a Harbor Master for this small place of frost near the middle of nowhere. The Ministry had rather hated promoting him even to the decidedly undesirable position of Harbor Master, but the young man was honestly good at his job- so they promoted him and hoped he didn't share his father's almost megalomaniacal tendencies when ruling over his men, or the habit of his father's of dipping a wee bit _too_ deep in the whisky when he was alone. In his cups, the man had almost been hanged once, by soldiers who refused to take it any longer; but Jonathan Tomas Jr. was not the man his father was, and so ended up far better than the Navy could have hoped. Still, they were loathe to stick anyone with the name "Tomas" in high command, so here he stayed, leading his men on the frozen northern edge of the world.

The man, sitting at his small desk in the small harbor, was very capable for what he did; but, having had no chance to train at harder and bigger things and henceforth never having the chance to expand his mind to deal with them, he was, in the end, a rather low-ranking middle-class soldier. He was not a great general (he was okay at defending things, and- as a bonus- he did have perfect knowledge of his harbor) and he was only an average soldier- he was, really, average in every way.

He was totally unprepared for the skill he was about to face. It was like an atom bomb deciding to have a blasting match with a firecracker. The poor man was in over his head, and he didn't even know it yet.

The ship slowly sailed into harbor, and the harbor master looked up.

" Huh" he said, as he moved to open it.

-

Ten minutes later.

The inside of the ship was dark and very, very cramped. Soldiers and their armor are big things, and put in a small place they tend to take up a lot of room very fast. One soldier was literally sitting on the greaves of his two companions, using his long-shafted halberd to keep himself upright. When discovering this problem, Ron had come up with a genius solution; the other two soldiers, both swordsmen, would stand up suddenly, propelling their shorter companion forward and letting him and his time-buying halberd enter the front ahead of them. The plan was simple: when the door opened, pikemen would rush out and buy everyone time to get outside the ship and get ready. Afterwards, pikemen in the lead, they would advance on the enemy harbor and keep their forces occupied while the other troops moved into position. Pikes were long weapons, and their strength was at their tip; henceforth, they possess many great disadvantages. They were horribly unwieldy in close combat, real damage could only be dealt with the very end of the weapon, and they were as heavy as lead; but they are absolutely exceptional at what they are supposed to do, and in this battle, what Ron wanted was exactly what pikes were supposed to do. Halberds and pikes, besides being excellent calvary deterrents (no horseman really wanted to run into one of those sharp, wicked looking things when they were leveled at him, and they had been the end of many a fine horse in their time) were also good at another thing, and that thing was time. Pikes were the greatest tool an infantry captain could hope to have when it came to buying time for his troops. No one wanted to step into the range of a pike (or halberd, depending on what they were being called at the time; Hermione, in a fit of pique over a strange inability to say "halberd" without smiling over an old sexual joke Ron had shared with her in their bed somet time ago, had even called them "long axes", which had made Ron burst out into laughter that his men didn't understand and really didn't _want _to understand), and the very fear of stepping into the long, sweeping arc of death that a pike represented to them was enough to buy commanders time to utilize other, more effective moves. Halberds also made great companions to swords, as they allowed an experienced soldier to "tie up" an enemy's movements, constricting his range of motion by jabbing and twisting the halberd, forcing him to duck and dodge instead of striking back, and with the enemy so preoccupied, it was a simple matter for a soldier or another halberdier to run up and strike the killing blow. Few soldiers could dodge multiple weapons without taking at least a small blow, and so most simply died when such a situation came.

All these things and more were on the minds of the soldiers now sitting quietly on the ship and waiting for the harbor master to open the door and invite death on his head. Actually, that same quiet was the one thing that should have told Ron that his doubts about his men were totally unfounded. His men were totally, completely, unnervingly silent. He had only said the word" Silence" to them, and now this. On a Ministry ship of the same size with the same number of soldiers, the men would undoubtedly be moving about, cursing and swearing when an elbow met an eye or a knee met a groin. On a Tide ship, again of same size and with the same number of soldiers, the sheer depravity and salivating, drooling evil that heavily prevailed over them all would have caused at least a few of them to laugh, or at least quietly chuckle, as they considered the flames that would shoot up and the blood they so longed to spill the instant they were off the ship. Yet the White Shore was completely, totally quiet. No one moved. It seemed no one breathed. Ron himself was afraid that he was the noisiest one on the ship, yet all he'd done was breath and quietly (so quietly the metal didn't even scrape on the scabbard) draw Lyonheart out. Ron thought about this and wondered.

The wondering, though, took the wrong turns, and Ron escaped what might really have been the central issue. The armies of most countries, including the U.S., Great Britain, and France, all believed that the best way to train a soldier is to break him first. They view it almost as they view breaking a horse: shatter a man's spirit, and then rebuild whatever's left into the machine you want it to be. That is why so many soldiers laugh at the same jokes; it is why so many soldiers all think alike. They are taught to. A man with the guts and temerity to tell his drill sergeant, when the man says " You must be a complete damn idiot" (generally for no reason; drill sergeants are taught to act tough, mean, and gritty, and assail people for the simple purpose of cowing them into submission), to fry in hell, is generally sent to the brig. Of course, for those with a defiant streak, this training works perfectly; they are cowed and do whatever they are told. But for those men and women with the incredible strength of soul to actually sign up and register for their duties, who deliberately risk their lives in the defense of something greater, this kind of training is nothing more than a shame and a slap in the face and a rude awakening, all in one. Someone with that kind of soul should be taught to obey you, yes- you _are_ the boss, after all- but that boss should not be shown to be some weak, stupid, screaming thing that rants for no reason and attacks you because you put your shirt on wrong, or because your medals are not perfectly laser straight. Many a soldier has left boot camp with zero respect for his drill sergeant in his mind- a great deal of fear, yes, but there is no respect. Many confuse fear and respect, but only with imbeciles are the two things ever one and the same. Fear inspires hatred; respect inspires devotion.

The White Shore, having had zero experience with any military, treated it like both a noble, sacred thing and a job all at the same time; this allowed them to keep the honor and duty they felt had to come with being a soldier, yet also allowed their men to have fun with their work and let it all hang out, too, figuratively speaking. As a job, they respected their superior officers and their wisdom; as a noble, sacred thing, they respected the act itself, and privately trained to get better, as well. Instead of degrading their men, the White Shore lifted them high; and the result was that, with a feeling both strong-rooted and deep, each soldier honestly believed that nothing but their very best would do. This, combined with Ron's extended practice hours, resulted in an army of quickly trained, powerful soldiers who obeyed every command given to them with all the willpower and might they could muster. When Ron said Silence, he might as well have told his men to turn to stone, for they moved not at all, not even to move a hand towards an itch or blink an eye that was fiercely burning from contact with the cold, dry air. Ron was surprised at this, and almost opened his mouth to say something, but held back his tongue. Any word now would simply break the silence, and Ron had to admit, they were fulfilling his command to the letter. He'd asked for silence, and boy, silence was what he got. Everyone was so quiet it was almost unnerving. Even those nights he'd laid awake next to Hermione, insomnia claiming him (as it so often did) instead of sleep, he had never heard such deep, uneventful, perfect silence.

He would have liked to say it was peaceful, but the silence was enforced, and so seemed hard, instead of peaceful. Then a small sound- loud inside the enclosed ship- and someone began tapping at the wall.

" Hmm... a ship? What's it doing out here? And no one's on it... demons, maybe? Or perhaps it has a magic captain, piloting it when all the Wizards are asleep... huh? A door? Hey, let's see what is"

At that point, Ron shouted " Now"

The door flew open, Tomas went down from a blow the high-velocity wood had delivered to him when the door seemingly leapt out of its hinges, and the Shore was on the move.

They were on the coast for a full five minutes before anyone found out, and that was only because a member of the guard had happened to go take a piss.

-

Private Traven walked outside, the air bitter and cold against his flesh; but because of the large number of men at the bathrooms at this hour (one man had managed to smuggle in large quantities of whisky; this resulted in much merry-making by the men, and afterwards, much water-making as each overworked liver threw a portion of its workload off onto the bladder, who was understandably very angry at being used in such a foul, mistreated way but who was also, very understandably, unable to do a damn thing about it) he had been forced to endure it if he wanted to elimnate a burning need in his crotch. Unzipping his pants, the soldier let loose with a stream that he could almost have sworn reached twenty foot in length. Back turned to the docks, the wind howling in his ears, the man didn't hear a damn thing when the door was kicked down and the men flooded outside it. He likewise heard nothing as they set up a small staging area that would last until their men were all out of the boat. Ron was currently calling Hermione on a small crystal ball they'd designed that would work in the snow (one odd note: physical cold had the ability to drain magic, and long-distance communications were a pain in the ass for a military unit in a snowstorm, because it fritzed out their communication devices- but Durmstrang had figured out ways around it, and the White Shore was grateful for their abilities now) and it was not until the communication was finished and the remaining two groups were well on their way towards the port that Private Traven turned around and was greeted by a group of heavily armed white bearing soldiers bearing on him while he was zipping up his pants.

Eyes bugging out of his head, Traven ran inside screaming" White Shore! White Shore! Here! Here"

The Ministry soldiers grabbed their weapons with a curse.

- Part 2 coming up soon. Happy New Years! And, in a belated Christmas gift to you all:

Harry's Jester powers _did_ come to him suddenly, without warning, without question. But the manner in which they came is a matter best left to other things. Suffice for now to say that the rage in his soul is a damn valuable prize for a few... _entities_ that exist in our universe. And suffice it to say that there are things in the looking glass which will terrify anyone, even Harry.

But "terrify" does not always mean "will not use". Remember that.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	36. White Against Might, Part 2

Hey people. Thanks for reviews! And now...

"SHOWTIME"

Chapter 30

White Against Might

Part 2

Lashwind Toll, small set of islands near the coast of Greenland, several leagues distant from the shores of England, 11:12 p.m., Aug. 8, First Year of the War of the Long Twilight.

The soldiers of the Ministry outpost rushed to grab their weapons before the white clad soldiers marching on them reached the front of the outpost, but the warning had been too little, too late- even as Private Traven's body fell (pierced by an arrow), the White Shore was reaching the front gates of the outpost and preparing to throw themselves into battle against the soldiers inside. The Ministry soldiers up front were cut down before they had a chance to grab their weapons; with their deaths, however, they bought time for the remainder of the Ministry troops to grasp their weapons and turn to fight. The Ministry faced their opponents, and right then, right there, the future of all Ministry and White Shore battless was decided.

When White faced Might, White won. Always.

The first Ministry troops, carrying short swords, faced their enemy. They would have charged the polearm-carrying front line, but side by side to each spear carrier was a swordsman, and the broadswords they carried looked mean. The White Shore armor, too, looked mean, as each was designed to resemble an animal of some sort (something the White Shore had done as a sort of homage to the Beastkeepers who had joined them; Walter and the rest of them were highly flattered by the compliment). The front line resembled a moving wall of spear carrying eagles, accompanied by tigermen with swords. Each tiger-soldier carried two broadswords, one in each hand. No one had a shield.

The Ministry soldiers began to get worried.

Ron, his helm made to resemble a great howling wolf, began to get worried, too.

Worried his men would turn and run. They were years younger than most of the enemy; how would they react when ordered to kill their "betters"? How would they react when it came down to a real, great, big, bad war?

His men proved to him in the next second that they would react to it by fighting.

The first Ministry soldier who decided to charge was swiftly met by what seemed to him to be a whirling wall of shining blades. One of the tiger men had leapt out at him and struck in a strange circular pattern, his left hand sword going up while his right hand sword curved down. The blades seemed to circle the air in front of him, and for fear of being struck low if he held the shield high and high if he held the shield low, the Ministry soldier moved his shield away from his body, pushing it out towards the tiger man so that he would be forced to keep his distance from him.

A spearmen to his left, unseen by him, stabbed him through the heart when he moved his shield out from his body enough to let the iron tip in. The Ministry soldier let out an "urk" and died. The spear retracted, and the tiger man pulled back as well.

At this point, the main White Shore army had arrived at the front gates of the compound, which were about 150 feet from the actual entrance of the military outpost. The outpost, too, had gotten its shit together and lined up outside the front gates as well.

Ron, standing behind his men, closed his eyes and activated the com link in his helm.

" MEN" he roared.

" SIR" they roared back. Good. He could hear the excitement in their voices. They wanted to fight. After all the training they'd been through, most of them couldn't wait to fight a real enemy and not just their partners in sparring matches. They wanted to kill.

Wondering if that in and of itself _was_ a good thing, Ron said" BRING THEM DOWN"

" SIR" they all cried back, and the pikemen lowered their spears. The swordsmen, human faces inside mimicking the fierce snarls of the tiger helmets they wore on the outside, began to march towards the gate, and the eagle-faced spear bearers marched slightly behind them, spears slowly advancing, using the swordsmen as cover so that they would get a chance to use the incredible weight and force of their weapons without the fear of leaving themselves open to enemy attack. Ron, picking up his pace, stepped into line beside the front line, Lyonheart out and fiercely glowing.

In the snow and the wind, his men cried out in one voice.

" HO"

They charged.

-

In the air to the north of Lashwind Toll, inside a magically generated stormcloud, same time.

The _Bleak Anchor_ swayed over the seas, great anchor chains drifting lightly in the wind, wicked tips glinting whenever the electricity in the thunderstrom showed itself with a flash and a crackle of lightning. Capt. Kaleb, magically enhanced sight looking towards the south, where the first group lay, raised his hand and made a signal.

" All hands, forward" First Mate Vustag shouted. He was currently standing behind Kaleb, a large and somehow sober black pirate's hat on his head. Above them, flapping lightly in the breeze, the ruined sails that were the hallmark of ghost ships the world over clung hideously to the decayed mast. Vustag looked up at them, and the slight, half-seen turning of the ghosts that floated among them simultaneously thrilled him and chilled him to the core. He was glad they were on his side, glad that the ghosts had chosen to help them; yet scared of them, as Life is always terrified of Death. Turning his head, he said" Prepare to move forth! All men, prepare for battle"

Cheers and shouts echoed throughout the massive galleon as the deck hands swung the ship's rigging about and prepared it to move. A great groan echoed in the air, possibly of wooden boards creaking as it moved but more likely (far more likely, on a ship like this) the groan of the mighty spirits aboard the vessel, and with a noise like the flapping of high sails in a fierce wind, the ship sailed forward in the air. The Thunderbird who had circled the ship to keep it covered stopped its flight and rose up higher in the air, giving out a great cry, flying forward to strike at several predetermined enemy outposts where the runes of defense shone brightest and strongest. They may not have been aiming to tear the compound down, but they had to remove the runes over it first, or they would never complete the spell Hermione had come up with over the past few days with Ron. She herself was aboard this ship, leading a group of Wizards behind her. This group, which had formed inside the Shore recently, was composed of specialists in cold and frost magics. Somewhat unnervingly, they had decided to call themselves "Cold Ghosts".

Hermione turned to them, and said" Are you ready"

The self-appointed "leader" of the Cold Ghosts, a girl named Janine, smiled at Hermione. Hermione, of course, couldn't see it, from where she was at; like all the Cold Ghosts, Janine affected a large, bluish white cloth that covered her mouth, and combined with the cowl over her head, the cloth hid all of her face from sight with the exception of her eyes. Those two brown orbs sparkled at Hermione, and then Janine said" Yes, my Lady. We are ready."

Turning to the other white-robed Ghosts, Janine said" Get ready"

They nodded to her, and then each closed their eyes and looked up into the clear night sky. Each smiling underneath their cloths, the group began to chant with a unity that was disturbing to Hermione, even as she realized the great power it granted them. Adding her own considerable magical might to theirs, Hermione began to cast the spell as well, though she used no chantings in her magic. Hermione preferred to simply say the words once, while focusing on her desired results. The two styles were contrasts; chanting created a _quantity_ of effects, while merely saying created a _quality_ of effect. Because of these differences, Hermione and the Cold Ghosts were each focusing on a separate task. Because they were producing a much wider (though weaker) string of effects in their spell, the Cold Ghosts were focusing on the base as a whole; Hermione was focusing on only a few separate sections of the base, but, because her spell was being said versus chantied, she was producing a greater, though narrower, effect on the sections she chose. The result was that the Cold Ghosts ended up totally freezing all inaminate objects in the areas of the base they attacked, and partially chilling any animate objects as well, and they also managed to partially drain the magic out of most objects in the areas they chose. Hermione totally froze all inanimate objects _and_ animate objects as well, though any magic in the rooms she attacked was left unaffected by her spell. Combining these two powers, they accomplished their goal. The inside of the base was now a frosty hell, and the unarmored soldiers inside (who didn't wear armor when not on duty, since it was heavy and the Ministry army had not, until recently had any enemies in this area) would soon be struck down with hypothermia and die. Also, the partial drain of magic prevented the automatic heaters from kicking on, henceforth ruling out that a sudden wave of heat would pass through the rooms and save the lives of the soldiers inside. It was a cruel, sneaky trick, but it was a stroke of pure tactical genius, and the move had probably saved the lives of countless White Shore soldiers, who would otherwise have been forced to fight room-by-room, dealing with an enemy who not only had intimate knowledge of the base and its design, but also had the advantage of being able to lie in wait and let the enemy come towards them. Now, the Ministry had no choice but to fight, and fight hard, hoping to solve the problem of the cold as soon as they had dealt with the enemy army on their doorsteps. Hermione and her soldiers had done what they were supposed to; now, they were to fly over the front gates and see if they could kill any Ministry officers from above. Air attacks being what they were, Ron had hoped to cause much confusion and terror among the ranks when it seemed as if the sky itself was against them. Huge chunks of ice were to be formed in the air, and then dropped upon the enemy, causing the death of anyone beneath them.

Hermione, thinking to herself as the ship wheeled around to approach the front gates over the now-defunct runes, hoped that they didn't miss. Nothing would hurt her more than to know that she, even by accident, had managed to hurt one of the soldiers who so fervently believed in her. Remembering that she was supposed to send a signal to Pierre aboard the _Grand Star_, she waved her hand at a nearby attendant, and then held up one, two, then three fingers, closing her hand fully each time. He nodded and ran off, a magical light in his hands, towards the back of the ship, where he would shine it at the _Grand Star_ in a series of one, two, and then three flashes, with a one second pause between them.

At the front of the ship, Capt. Kaleb waited for battle.

-

To the north of Lashwind Toll, in the same airspace where the _Bleak Anchor_ had been, a minute later.

Aboard the airship _Grand Star_, which had been renamed when the White Shore had based itself at Durmstrang (it's former name had been _Onager,_ an old Roman word for "wild ass", also the same word they used for "catapult"), Pierre rubbed his head and looked anxiously at the _Bleak Anchor_. When Hermione and the Cold Ghosts had finished their spell, they were to flash a signal to them. The signal given would depend on the situation: one flash with no follow-up indicated that the mission was a failure and that they were to run home as fast as they could; one flash, followed by two one second later, would indicate that they were to proceed, but cautiously; one, followed by two, then followed by three, meant everything was a blazing success and that they should proceed with all haste. He waited anxiously for the moment to come; a jumpy man by nature, war was eating up his nerves. Observing him later, one soldier told Ron that Pierre " always looked as though something large and nasty was about to come out and beat him down." It was just about the truth.

Despite his nervousness, however, Pierre was a good man and an able soldier; in the middle of battle, he seemed to be an absolutely impregnable man, not noticing wounds, disasters, or even the closest of calls, taking them all as calmly as another man might take his tea. It was before he did things that he started spazzing out. Waiting had never sat well with him.

Standing beside him, Capt. Olaf Ahnren looked over at the young man with kindness, then said" Hey. You."

Pierre's head snapped over, and he said" Yeah"

Olaf smiled through his thick yellow beard. " It's okay" he said. " You'll be all right. Just wait for the battle and tell yourself it will all be okay." Olaf's smile and genial manner seemed to tell everyone around him that everything _would_ be okay. A tall, thin man, he was a very kind sort of soul. Pierre's jumpiness was not, however, impressed by his manner.

" I know" Pierre said, twitching, looking about, and seeming for all the world as if he did _not_ know. " It's just... I don't like waiting."

Olaf smiled. " Yeah" he said" tell me about it. Still, nothing else we can do, so let's just... hey, was that a light"

Pierre's head whipped around, and he caught just a brief glance of the signal before it flashed out of view. An eternal second later, two more flashes followed. Pierre was about to yell for joy when another set of flashes, this time three in a row, blinked on and off in the cold summer night before going out permanently and leaving the rear end of the _Bleak Anchor_ in darkness. Pierre smiled. His nervousness seemed to fall off of him like water down the back of a tall stone building. Turning his small, slender body around, Pierre said" All right, then. You saw it. Let's get moving."

As Olaf shouted out commands to his crew, Pierre said" Finally! Let's get ready, people." Putting on the face of a bear, Pierre picked up the slender rapier he chose to fight with. " Let's bury some dead."

The cheers of his men rang in his ears as the _Grand Star_ began its flight towards Lashwind Toll.

-

Inside the sleeping quarters of the Ministry outpost on Lashwind Toll, same time.

The soldiers getting up felt something was wrong in the air the instant they began to move. Hearing only half-understood shouts in their ears, the groggy watchmen stumbled up out of their wool covers and began to ask what was going on... before feeling it hit them with an almost physical smack.

The air. Something was wrong with the air. As each man tried to figure out for himself what was wrong with the world around them, their toes and fingers began to turn blue from the cold. And as each man looked at his hands and feet, every one of them figured it out, almost at the same time.

The air. The air was cold.

And the Ministry always kept the temperature at something like seventy five degrees Farenheit. What was...?

What was going on...?

The men stumbled out of bed, and the first thing their feet felt was the sheer, almost impossible cold of the floor. It was the absolute last thing they would ever feel out of their feet, ever again.

-

Front gates of Lashwind Toll, same time.

The Ministry soldiers held up the swords they wielded and vainly tried again, but it was no good. Something was wrong with the world here. Somehow, nothing they did seemed to affect the army of beast men that even now began to advance again, slowly and slowly pushing them back against the compound, cutting swathes and swathes of their ranks down with each advance, beating them back every time they rushed forward to retake their land and drive the invaders out. They seemed to be invincible, and as the Ministry soldiers looked about the battlefield, they could almost admire their enemy for the incredible skill they displayed in combat, and would, if the enemy had not been using it on them. A tiger man, blades out, performed a whirling dance, one blade catching his opponent's sword and knocking it aside, his other blade whipping through the air as he turned to bury itself deeply in the man's head. One brave Ministry soldier, armed with an axe, rushed forward, but two stepped up to meet him, and when he drew his axe over his head to strike, one put its twin blades into his neck and the second stabbed him in the stomach. He dropped his weapon and died gurgling. An eagle man, spear in hand, walked forth, and when two soldiers rushed him, he made his long pole a tripwire, sweeping it low and knocking them off their feet, finally raising his weapon up in the air and bringing it down with crushing force. Both men died with their faces gone. A particularly ferocious enemy, bearing the visage of a raging wolf, walked forward, a strangely shining sword in hand, and with one blow he was cleaving apart even the strongest of protective magics with the razor edge of his sword. Three men had tried to bring him down. All three died.

The men fell back and fell back, and soon they felt the chill walls of their compound behind them (very chill; none of the men noticed it at the time, but theier compound felt absolutely frigid at their backs). Prepared to make a stand right there and then, they readied their weapons to meet the charge.

The chunks of boulder-like ice that fell on them from above busted open their skulls and cut them down where they stood. Men screamed as chunks rained down on them, huge blocks of sheer ice that seemed to move the earth when they hit. Each impact was like a meteor, crushing flesh and breaking bone, killing groups of men at each go. Worse, the sound of a great, bellowing war cry behind them (completely unlike the totally silent, almost statue like beast men before them and yet, somehow, horribly, exactly the same) made them fear in their hearts, and tremble in their shoes.

Finally, feeling the end was near, they made a run for it.

None of them escaped.

-

Durmstrang, four days later, Aug. 12, 3:00 p.m.

The cold roof of the world was alight with excitement that day, as the first shipment of soldiers to the newly created port of Bear's Claw (named after the great bears the White Shore was using as load bearers- no one would use the term "beast of burden") was heading off that day. Waving goodbye to the valiant soldiers who were onboard the _Frost Cap _(a new ship Kaleb had recently stolen, in his second raid, this time from a Ministry naval base in the northern part of Ireland- Kaleb was starting to enjoy stealing from his enemies, and privately relived every moment of his two captures in his dreams), Ron viewed their departure with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. His men had fought well- extremely well. He had been surprised at the tenacity with which they fought, and the fact that they had lost only ten men- only ten- against a force that was of nearly equal size. All of them had been killed when the Ministry soldiers had "snapped" under the strain of having icebergs dropped upon their heads and rushed pell-mell at them, swords swinging. Such berserker fighting tactics were hard to deal with. Still, with only ten losses, Ron's head was swimming. He'd had no idea that his men could fight so well. He'd bought them all a round of the rare Firewhisky that Durmstrang had kept in its basement over the years (and had brought out when the White Shore arrived, selling to souls underage in body but overage in mind, for prices that were very, very inflated). One of the more popular jokes running around nowadays was that, while Ron may be "Old Grim", he sure as hell wasn't "Old Stingy". His men often waved at him when they saw him passing in the halls, feeling very friendly towards him after the last battle. Surprising himself, Ron often waved back. Things were going too well to be depressed anymore. He didn't go so far as to begin stargazing with the rest of the White Shore, but he was considerably happier than he had been in a long, long time. Standing on one of the freezing outer balconies of Durmstrang's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ron shivered in the cold and smiled. Things weren't so bad after all. He looked at Hermione, standing beside him, and once more surprised himself, wrapping his arm around her and hugging her close. Hermione, shocked at this unusual display of love and affection, looked confused for a moment, then looked up into his eyes and smiled. Turning her head, she snuggled up to him, and sighed happily.

" Hermione" Ron said, holding her. He played with a strand of her hair. White and brown curls mingled in his hand.

" Yes, Ron" Hermione said, leaning against him as the _Frost Cap_ disappeared in the distance. She would remember it later as one of the happiest moments of her life.

" I love you" he said. Hermione sighed against him.

" And I you" she said. Later that night, she lay in his arms and wondered what he was dreaming, as he slept beside her. It was something she would wonder often, in coming nights.

Ron's insomnia had disappeared.

- Hope you guys like this! See you next chapter!


	37. Through A Stained Glass Wall

Hey everybody. Thanks for reviews! Here's Chapter 30, and my random reader review notes:

Takato the Hedgehog: Thanks for liking it! Ah, Seamus, the Black General... one of my favorite characters. He should be showing up this chapter (I've just started writing it) but that might depend on how the story goes. It's going to be Harry-centric for this chapter...

Glad you like it! And as for fanart... should be good to see.

arianna2344: Thank you! It's always good to hear from someone who enjoys foreshadowing, as I myself enjoy the art. Thank you!

mashimaromadness: Actually, yes! This chapter is Black Tide-centric. The entire White Shore diversion was mostly done to give you an idea why they are going to ki- (coughs) Ahem, excuse me. You will have to read to find out why that last chapter was important.

Voldemortluver247: Harry is in this chapter!

Flight of the Wild: Thank you!

CastusAlbusCor: Thanks for reviewing! (note to all: this man is one of my favorite reviewers, and he's even consistent in reviewing my Harry works! Amazing!)

Harrie: Well... Certain things will happen, my friend, and the end should be as different as the beginning, but I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. (evil laugh)

Just one last note. Somebody mentioned that England doesn't even _have_ Fox or CNN- I know that, but Fox and CNN are both kind of quasi-global networks, and they are the ones I'm familiar with, so... Also, they would _have_ to send someone to cover such a story, wouldn't they?

Thanks for the reminder, though.

Thanks to everyone! Now, it's...

"SHOWTIME"

Chapter 30

Through A Stain-Glassed Wall

Jester's Keep, Oceania, England, 1:30 p.m., Aug. 12, First Year of the War of the Long Twilight.

Harry paced the center of his room with a furtive, haunted look on his face. In a moment he would have to go and deal with Nash'gu, but until the time he met with the monstrosity, he wanted to deal with his own problems first.

And, of course, whenever Harry thought about his own problems, they always seemed to lead back to Nilette. Nilette, Nilette, Nilette. The big-breasted, red-haired, green-eyed whore of a woman, yet so perfectly un-whorelike that he could not help but be attracted to her. Chang disgusted him anymore; whenever he held her up to the image of perfection that was Nilette, her slightly thin body and looks were as nothing to him. Chang was a scarecrow, a stick-thin whip thing that clung and scratched and scrabbled all over him when they made love, and that almost spider-like skittering, that constant movement of her hands and arms and legs, which before had seemed so sexual and made him so lustful that his mind itself teetered on the brink when she did it, now disgusted him, and filled his mind with images of wasps and bees and the crawling things of the earth. Such was undoubtedly unfair to Cho, and she was somewhat antsy around him lately- she sensed the outward and inward coldness he now felt towards her, and she didn't understand it, so that confused her, but even worse, she still loved him, and that confused her even more, confused her in the sense of "_Why doesn't he love me? Have I done something wrong?_" and made her try even harder to make Harry love her, which just pushed him away even more- but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything, now. Seamus had told him that, yesterday, a small Tide outpost near the eastern coast of England had been destroyed by a massive Ministry counterattack. Harry had shook his head and dismissed him, saying that it was a mere fluke and to be expected- it had been a small outpost, unimportant, and it affected them in no way at all. So long as Harry could be near Nilette and see her, he did not care what the world did with itself, no did he mind if the whole Tide fell apart around him. He'd been in this hell too long.

Now, he just wanted her.

Suddenly, the world itself went dark, and Harry shook his head. He was going to deal with Nash'gu, and he did not need any distractions in his head when he did it. He turned in his room, and found the large, ornate mirror he'd had installed when the Keep was first built. Stepping towards it, Harry saw it turn to stained glass- not the kind found in cathedrals (no, not that kind; this kind would have turned to dust and shattered if touched by the stones of a cathedral, or even if merely the shadow of the cathedral fell upon it) but a dark kind, almost a mocking kind. The image on the glass was that of a jester- a smiling, laughing, prancing jester face. Harry recognized it as his own.

Harry stepped through the mirror without a cut and plunged into the abyss.

-

Brokenlands. Noplace, notime, nowhere.

Harry felt through darkness and past all reach of light (just as all light was past his reach, now; he was Black, and pure Black cannot touch pure White; it burns it, somehow, touches it and consumes it, and the White, which was so past understanding as compared to the simple and stupid Black, was too strong for Harry to ever touch or deal with again) and soon reached the place that Nash'gu called home. The wailing of the dead reached his ears as he slowly fell to the ground and hit the shattered, bone-white ribs of these broken lands.

As Harry stood up, he heard something chuckling harshly, gurgling as if through a mouthful of spit (or of blood), and felt the slow _clump_... _clump_... _shuffle_... of the countless dead as they carried Nash'gu's thick, filthy form forward. He stood up and, as the monstrosity approached, he gazed about this cracked-open ground.

The broken lands had once been a world, long ago; a world of green and light and good. It had fallen, though, fallen because its greatest hero had turned evil and foul, and turned on all to detonate a nuclear warhead that had consumed the entire planet. The fallout of the blast still hung in the air; the twin suns that had once given life to this beautiful world shone only dimly through the haze of red tinged dust floating in the air. The light they gave- harsh, demanding, unforgiving light- was the dull red of dried blood. What few trees still lived here wept openly, mouths opening and closing on their twisted trunks, actual faces growing on them, as the demon's foulness polluted the land simply by its existing and turned the trees into false things that should not have been. The land looked much like the skeleton of the live animal it once was; the great mountains standing up, the former spine of the world, had shattered and broken, jagged peaks ending in hard cliffs that fell apart as often and not and looked like some child had taken a hard hammer to them and beat them mercilessly until they fell. Great valleys, once staggering vistas of great beauty and green, green grass, were now sludge-filled marshes full of stinking slime and the refuse of now-dead beasts. A single thing moved upon the plains, one of the lone survivors of the nuclear blast, a great dragon that was now twisted beyond all recognition. The pitiful, mewling thing was nothing more than a dead creature still moving, dying as the few limbs that still worked carried its blind and almost deaf form across the stinking marsh. As Harry watched, the creature raised its head and gave a blowing, almost sad cry. Harry felt no pity for it. The damnation of a world was always the business of that world. Turning about, Harry saw the creature responsible for all of this.

" Ah" the thing muttered, gurgling in its madness as its twisted, bloated form was carried on the dead but still aware corpses of the people of this world, things that, though dead and beyond pain, still knew what was going on around them, knew what they were forced to do, and were so frightened they would have died if their hearts were not already stopped and their bodies already gone, would have run if their legs were not forced to constantly uphold this thing and push it upwards, would have fallen from exhaustion if their bodies were not incapable of succumbing to that emotion (incapable of succumbing to, but not incapable of feeling it, that was the great torment of their form)" I see you are admiring the plains. It is a beautiful view, as I think you have noticed." The thing chuckled.

" What business did you have with me" Harry asked. " You do not make social calls, I presume." Slowly, very slowly, so that Nash'gu would know he was not doing it out of a desire to kill (always a problem with demons; they always thought you were going to try and kill them, probably a side-effect of all half-decent beings in the universe wanting them dead) but merely because he was more comfortable in it, Harry turned into his Jester form.

" Right to the point, aren't we" the thing gargled through a mouthful of blood at him. Through its insanely wide, grinning teeth, teeth that came out of a mouth that actually extended from the creature's face and were so large as to block out all but the eyes of the demon, blood poured through in steady streamlets in the gaps between the teeth. The droplets struck it's naked chest and ran down to the cadavers below that supported its form. The monster never opened its mouth to speak, though Harry knew that, if it came to battle, the mouth would open, and an endless stream of blood would pour out as it chomped and chomped and chomped. The entire demon was a strange, massive form- across the endless spine of this dead world, Harry saw the twisted, fat, green, caterpillar-like tail of the thing stretching on and on and on, carried by the naked corpses of the dead of this realm, all of them screaming faces without sound, small, thin, useless legs pattering- pitter-pitter-pattering- in the faces of the dead as they carried the tremendous weight of the demon. From the front, the end that faced Harry, and out of this green worm mass arose a human form twice the size of a normal man, with no belly-button (it had never been born, had never had an umbilical cord) and a great, hairless (and yet, somehow, it looked hairy; or maybe not hairy, but simply rough in the chest), heavily muscled chest rising up from out of it. From the two arms of the thing (which reached its "waist" were talons with only three wicked claws, one thumb and two fingers, all of them massive in comparison with normal beings. The head was strange; the jaws were set in front of the demon, and were massive, filled with white teeth that were so sharp that the merest glancing blow from them could cause a man to lose an arm. The eyes were both massive and slanted, and set on a head whose brow was lower than any Neanderthal's had ever been. The thing always grinned; it always smiled.

But maybe the worst part was that, when you got near it, you felt _unreal_. As if the thing you talked to did not exist. Harry sometimes wondered if it really did.

As powerful and evil as he was, Harry was still nervous and still (if truth be told) scared of dealing with the demon. He wanted to get this done and over with. " Get on with it" Harry snapped. " I've more important things to do than deal with a demon like you."

Nash'gu chuckled. It could sense the evil in Harry's soul, and knew that, unlike its own darkness, Harry's evil would account for much in the end (as all acts by mortals, whether good or evil, count for more in the end than the acts of such immortals as demons and elementals) and that, somewhere in its heart, it rather liked this impetuous mortal. This demon did not fear Harry, as, being an emanation of evil itself, it could not fear evil (Good, however, was a different matter; like all beings of darkness, Nash'gu simultaneously feared and longed for the light), but it did respect the mortal, so bowed to his requests.

Drawing in a deep, hissing, gurgling breath, the demon said" Actually, I have come to draw from you. I know it's early, but I need a little more power this time than usual. Your rage and your hate have become both stronger and weaker in the last few days... but you have also grown mightier in another sense, in that your evil is spreading. I sense the taint of a new sin on you..."

The demon sniffed the air with a nose that did not exist, then chuckled. " Of course. I should have recognized the scent. One of the seven cardinal sins, boy, maybe the deadliest of them to certain people. Of course, you've always possessed the most... _destructive_ sin among them, w_rath_, but what I sense of you now is different, somehow." The demon smiled.

" What new sin is this" Harry asked in a quiet, almost whisper voice, though he knew perfectly well what it was.

" _lust_" the demon said, almost whispering the words, and it half-closed its eyes in pleasure. Shaking and shivering, the demon said" It would be so wonderful to draw this out of you, to take it kicking and screaming and feast on it... but I will not. I'll wait until this sin has... _matured_, somewhat. Still..."

The demon smiled as it opened its mouth and blood, the blood of a thousand million people, burned to death and slaughtered, partially by their greatest hero but mostly by their own sins, a people drawn to darkess who had turned their back to the light, who had given up on good because it was weak and so fell prey to evil, burst out of its mouth.

" GIVE IT TO ME" the demon yelled. As the blood from its pouring mouth rushed around Harry and swallowed him in a flood tide of red, Harry's form began shaking and jerking and shivering- and he started to dance. Somehow, someway, he always started to dance. It was as if a secret, one he'd always partially known but never really revealed to himself, was shown to him every time the demon drained his soul- and it was always a release. The first time this had happened, after he'd made the decision to throw away his soul and take from the demon, he had begun dancing too- it was this dancing, and the mad joy that accompanied it, that had made him decide to be a jester. The demon had told him, once, as they talked, that it was less what he did and more Harry's choice to allow it to be done that had given the demon power. The demon had told him that choice was such a wonderful thing. If half the dolts who followed Good ever figured out the power in it, they would wipe the worlds of Evil in a second's time. Thankfully, too many of them spent their time talking about Destiny to ever really bother the demons. Those that did not, of course, were the ones who ended up as heroes- and then promptly called the "destined ones", something which just made the demons laugh all the harder. As long as people thought that one had to have a special "destiny" to do something grand, they would never stand up on their own to make a stand against the darkness, because they'd wait for "Destiny" to tell them what to do, not knowing that Destiny, that preset path, did not exist. Fate, yes, that existed; a Fate that was kind and good and wonderful, that turned the most chance incidents into the makers of worlds, that allowed others their choice but, once their choice was made, helped them if they were good and hindered them if they were evil. But Destiny?

Nothing but bullshit, lovely bullshit. Useful bullshit, too.

As always when the demon drained his mind and gobbled up the wickedness therein, Harry felt as if his brain were splitting- as if the part of his head where his mind was kept was slowly cracking, cracking, cracking. Without knowing how he knew it, he knew his scar was lengthening. This, then, was the secret he had kept from all, in all his days; this, then, was the source of his power. Not his own rage and madness, though that gave him the power to make this choice. Not his pain. Not even his own inner evil.

It was his choice to be fed on by a demon... and feed in return.

The demon finished soon enough, and Harry awoke (as he always seemed to, though he never remembered fallling asleep) in a pool of blood. The demon chuckled as its form was carried off by the shuffling, shuddering corpses.

" Somehow" the demon said, as it walked past him" you are a gift that keeps on giving, Harry Potter."

The demon's laughter rang in his ears as he slowly stood up and shook the blood off his form. Shuddering as he stepped in through the stained-glass wall that separated his realm from the demon's sundered world, Harry thought he could hear screaming, though the only sound in all the broken lands was the slow, slow shuffle of dead, cold white feet on dead dust.

-

As a general rule, that autumn and winter were very bad for the Tide. Starting in the late summer, things began to go bad for them, and by the end of winter they were lucky to be alive- everyone had been attacked, it seemed, and only the efforts of some of the greatest of their kind had kept them afloat. One of these dark heroes was actually a group of them. The Fifteenth Marauder Division, which after today would become known as "Hell's Kings", performed an act that seemed small to many at the time but may have been one of the biggest effectors of the war. The act was to steal all the supplies within the port of Sailing Storm and then destroy the port itself.

It would have been a very, very tiny act... except for one thing.

After all, you can't call griffin eggs tiny.

-

Sailing Storm, Ministry naval outpost, near London, England, 3:00 p.m., Aug. 12.

The men sailing into the port were nervous, jumpy, and ill-suited to water life- both had puked their brains out several times over since setting sail from Denmark some time ago. However, now that they were at port, they were even more nervous- after all, they had some ridiculously illegal cargo to import, and if caught, they would probably be executed. The Ministry had gotten much harsher over the past few days, and crimes that before would have merited nothing more than a slap on the wrist now received jail time, and, in some instances, death. The fifteen men on the ship were delivering cargo that, pre-War, would have gotten them jailed- now, the penalty for bringing in Dangerous Animals to the country was execution, swift and simple. The Ministry had gotten scared over the past few days that the Beastkeepers would sneak into the country with the eggs of their animals with them and grow them in the countryside, sending them to rage and rampage whenever the creatures grew old enough to kill, and this idea, fanned in the heads of the Wizengamot by a particularly weighty spokesman (actually the representative of Coyote, Pettan Grew, otherwise known as Peter Pettigrew, everyone's favorite evil Animagus in a new disguise, working on a suggestion by Voldemort that actually was a good idea- assuming, of course, that the Beastkeepers would have done such a thing in the first place), soon became one of the many portions of the law about which the Ministry was particularly strict. In fact, the creatures the smugglers were escorting- twenty-seven golden griffin eggs, all in prime condition, all ready to birth within another month or so- were considered the third-most dangerous creatures on the Dangerous Animals list, behind red dragons (number 1 threat) and Thunderbirds (number 2 threat). Capture with these babies in their possession would be a sure-fire way of getting killed. When the Ministry officials, displaying ordinary Ministry inefficiency, forgoed checking their cargo hold for more than a quick look that all the crates they said were there were there and that none they said were not were there, the fifteen smugglers breathed a collective sigh of relief. Glad to have gotten through so far, the smugglers began to unload their cargo upon a waiting, friendly black marketeer, who would pay them in gold Galleons and then fly the crates with their precious cargo to a certain woman whose name the smugglers did not know.

(Unbeknownst to them- or anyone else, for that matter- the crates were being sent to Mrs. Malfoy, now a widower and the mother of a dead child, who had ordered them in a strange fit of liveliness that interrupted the dead, almos stale lethargy that had settled over her upon hearing of her husband's death. That death was, of course, one hell of a long time ago, and now, her funds dwindling, she had seemed almost to wake up and had settled on a most novel- if strange- attempt at life. She was going to attempt to become a Beastkeeper. She wanted to prove- for some odd reason only she herself knew about- that Beastkeepers were not inherently bad people. Perhaps the fact that many neighbors believed she'd lost her mind from the twin deaths of her son and her husband, but Mrs. Malfoy was now obsessed with counter-cultures and alternate lifestyles, and the Beastkeepers fascinated her. She'd also had the eggs of giant Dulphiny land crabs sent to her house, as well as one egg- only one, the damn things were too powerful to have more than one- of a mighty creature known only as a Samphiron, a great frilled creature that was said to resemble an ancient creature called an ankylosaur, with a body that was said to weigh over four tons and eight legs to move its cantankerous bulk about, plus a set of four tails which- legends said- had the power to draw in the ambient light of the Samphiron's surroundings and turn the entire surrounding area dark. She never received the shipment of griffon eggs, but was soon too busy dealing with her three Dulphiny land crabs and one Samphiron to worry about it too much.)

As the smugglers found the black marketeer, greeting him with a wink and a nudge, they suddenly heard a high, ululating war cry. Jerking their heads up, they saw, just in time, five Marauders barreling towards them. Not really caring if Mrs. Malfoy would pay for damaged goods or not, they threw the crates down and proceeded to haul ass. Only the black marketeer made it very far- he got exactly fifteen feet before the same archer who had slain three of the smugglers struck him down. The five Marauders, finished with firing their arrows, put their bows back on their backs and drew their swords. They ran through the small port, slaying anyone they came across, and leaving the bodies where they lay in the streets. The Fifteenth Division, comprised of only 70 men of the original 100 (the Tide being what it was, the divisions were simple- round numbers, as Seamus himself once said, were lovely things, and made the math so much easier), charged into the city of three hundred with but one purpose.

Kill everything that moved, and leave the bodies to the birds.

The archers marched on, firing as they came upon their targets and laughing as they flung death-filled sacs into open windows or poured small tubes of a thick, viscous green material down the throats of already dead corpses. In exactly three hours, the sacs would burst and the liquid would burn- and Hell's Boils would infect the entire area.

The Marauders marched on. Behind them, perfectly safe in their snug little nest of hay and soil, were twenty-nine golden griffin eggs. They gleamed slightly in the light.

-

The Fifteenth Marauder Division suffered not one casualty that day, as the attack was sudden, swift, well-organized, and completely unexpected. The Fifteenth Marauder Division had assualted a city comprised almost entirely of civilians, and when the Marauders were done, over one hundred and twenty civilians lay dead. When the Boils infected the area later, the rest of them died as well.

The Marauders had not intended, however, to actually kill everyone in the town. They had intended merely to frighten them and shock them, and then they intended to use the pack spiders they had brought along to carry out the goods of the small port. Amongst the usual trade of food, clothing, and whiskey (which was great for them; the Laughing Mug, which now had stores in all eleven cities of the Tide, had been running low on whiskey up here in England, what with tighter port security and all), the group found some banned items as well- flying carpets, Fondest Dreams (a strange, slightly eerie device that was essentially an automatic sex robot that could assume any form, shape, or... _size_ that anyone wanted it to be), and, most importantly, the griffin eggs. Shrugging at their good luck at finding flying carpets, the Tide soldiers had pitched the Fondest Dreams, stuck the eggs on the carpets on the off-chance it could be useful as a meal item, and had ten men fly off with them back to Oceania while the rest hoofed it all the way with the rest of the load on pack-spiders.

When the men on foot reached Oceania two hours after their comrades, they received a hero's welcome.

-

The Barracks, Oceania, England, two hours later.

Seamus merely stared at the men as the two Enchanters from Cho's Nightworks (as she had taken to calling the massive blacksmithy, crafting, and enchanting facility that had been the first building built in Oceania and now was the second largest, only behind the Keep itself in size) looked the eggs over, and then asked if they could take them back. Allowing them to do so with a wave of his hand, Seamus turned to his men and felt, for the first time, an utter blank. Wondering just what his men had been doing, he asked as the Enchanters left" Alright, men. I'll get to the point. Why and what did you do"

One of them, a commander named Albus Arain, said" Sir, we did it because of revenge. We suffered, sir, in the battle for London..."

Seamus turned his head. They'd all suffered, in the fight for London. It may have only been surface wounds, but in an army where only the merest of scratches had been all the enemy could give for a long time, surface wounds cut deep. " I know. Go on."

A second commander, Balkus Derai, said" Sir, with all due respect, I don't think you do know. You do understand which Division we are, right"

Seamus, not angry with the man (he knew full well which Division this was, dreams of its dead men having tortured him for a week after the events of London), said" Yes, I know, Balkus. I know which Division you are." Seamus sighed. " You were the ones who stayed behind."

The third captain, Cassalin Gomal, spoke up. " Sir" she said" we were caught on the other side of the bridge when the bombs were detonated. You know that. Don't make us heroes when we were fools."

" Cassalin..." Seamus began, only to be cut off by Albus Arain when he spoke again. Normally, no soldier would dare interrupt the Black General for any reason, but Albus was suddenly filled with a passion he could not control. It was a passion that would make him a great leader in days to come.

" No, sir" he spit, almost hissing at the air" don't comfort us. Damn it, we know what we did. We all do! We three are the reason so many of us are dead. Thirty men, sir. Thirty men. That's a _third_ of our force. That's... that's too many to know, too many to understand. We... we are not big groups, you know that. We Marauders are small, close-knit _families_, damn it, families you designed and created! We became a family because our purpose in combat is not just front-line soldiers, where only the strength of your brother's arm might be all that keeps you alive... but because we are also special attack squads, commandos in enemy territory, and there, we have to have an absolute faith in each other. An absolute trust. It's a bond that goes deeper than blood, deeper than loyalty, deeper than honor. We love each other. Every one of us."

Overcome for a moment, Albus actually began to cry. Before anyone else, the fierce Englishman would have pushed them back and fought himself over the tears, but General Seamus was such a great man and a noble one that he felt no shame in his tears before him. Seamus never knew it, but he was a makeshift father for a lot of them, and oddly, the same lack of compassion his own father had had was what gave Seamus such an over-abundance of it. To the orphans of the Tide (and all of them were orphans in some way or the other; even by choice, being an orphan is hard), Seamus and his stern, commanding visage was not just the "boss" or the "commander"; he was also their friend, and someone they could look up to. Slightly uncomfortable in the face of the man's tears, Seamus said nothing, merely looked away in a gesture that spoke not of shame or disgust but of mere understanding... which prompted Cassalin to speak.

" Sir" she said" we were... closer-knit, than most of the Tide. We always had been. We knew every little detail of each other's lives and reveled in every minute of it. We were together through everything- everything. We're one of the oldest groups in the Tide, formed right after Hogwarts shut down. We were with each other in the battle of Hogwarts, fighting outside the walls... we lost nobody there, and that was because we stood together. Balkus himself rescued me when a rogue centaur that had gotten past Padma Patil's line of stone spires ran into me and knocked me down. Right before he struck me with his axe, Balkus grabbed me and jerked me out of the way in time for the centaur to miss. Right after he struck, four arrows found his head. Four arrows! All because I was in danger, everyone else in the division ran to my aid. They paid for my whiskey that night because I had almost gotten killed. We were a family, damn it, and the Ministry tore us apart." She spat this last and then, like Albus, broke down into tears.

Balkus put his hands on his friend's shoulders and patted them gently. Albus and Cassalin both turned to the bigger man and wept into his shoulders. Holding both of them, Balkus said" We've danced in hell together. We're all damned, we know that. We've watched Necromancers fly overhead and hurl death-magicks with their hands, we've seen men turn into crocodiles and bite the heads off of others, we've even seen men literally explode as a Purger's flames ate them up. But we have never seen one of our family die. And now we have. Thirty of them, all in one go."

" I dream about it sometimes" Albus whispered, shaking as he remembered. " The Maven galloping towards us, those giant sickles in their hands, like death had had a sale on old blades and they'd purchased all his used, rusty, blood-stained old tools..."

" We are the last three of the eight commanders that had led Division Fifteen" Balkus said. " We eight had decided, when you gave the order to retreat to the bridge, to stay on the other side and slow the knights down. We believed that it would be easy- we heard the reports from you that things had gone to hell, and when we reached the bridge- ahead of everyone else, damn it, that's what kills me, _we were there first and we didn't cross!_- we waited and saw the horrified looks of our fellow soldiers as they flew from death on their white steeds behind them and ran pell-mell for the bridge... I even remember those Purgers, the ones that finally detonated the bridges, standing there, in the middle of the bridges, like a splash of bright red color on a black canvas as the army swarmed around them. I remember one looking at me, and I think I saw him mouth _Go_. But we didn't. You know why? We were arrogant. We thought we could slay the Maven. We thought we could fight the Ministry, kill their commanders, and head back to the meadow, singing "A Fiery Breeze" as loud as we could, swaggering as we came back victorious." Balkus closed his eyes and shuddered. " But we never had a single chance."

Seamus, who remembered that terrible day all too well, said" What happened" He knew perfectly well what happened, but speaking about the past- flaying yourself with the whip of painful memories- was sometimes the best thing that could happen to you.

" They slaughtered us" Balkus said flatly, as Cassalin finished crying and drew back, slightly abashed, while Albus' sobs slowly died down" They charged in and cut us down. Maven move fast, sir. I know our spiders are more mobile, but the horses the Ministry ride are swifter than the wind. They charged in, leapt our clumsy attacks, and began cutting us before we even knew what hit us. Leland and Ziegfried went down in the first volley- that was our two top commanders right there. After that..." He slowly shook his head. " I don't remember, really. It's all just a blur until I suddenly come to, standing in the meadow, whispering "For vengeance" to myself. We still don't have as many men as the rest of the Tide, sir. We lost half of our forces- remember, back then, sixty was the number allotted to a division. You've raised it to one hundred, but you still have never replaced the thirty we lost."

" I thought" Seamus said, pursing his lips" that you three specifically asked that I not replace those lost men."

" We did" Balkus said. " I'm not blaming you, sir, or saying anything about you- that's our call, our fault, if fault is to be found. But ever since then, we've had it in our heads to get revenge. We've trained, day and night, using the Barracks' training grounds for days on end, never leaving, hardly sleeping, eating only the meagerest rations as we fought and fought and fought. We've battled for hours on end, sir, to the point where whole stretches of days are just a haze of combat in my mind, days where all I did was train and fight, train and fight." He shook his head. " You remember when the centaur ruler named Ashbow was killed"

" Yes" Seamus said. A week ago, the final group of centaurs had been eliminated. They'd held out 'till the very end, and even Harry had been somewhat impressed by their tenacity- but in the end, a strange, sudden attack by the Fifteenth Marauder Division had slew the last remaining centaur encampment in its hidden valley while the centaurs slept. Seamus had been mildly pleased with the soldier's work and had given the small bounty they'd placed on Ashbow's head- a bounty of one hundred Galleons, not much, but a nice bonus that could pay for a weekend of drinking if the user spent his money right- to Balkus at that time, to distribute amongst his men. From what he'd heard, they'd used it to pay for extra supplies and weaponry, particularly small bags of Hell's Boil, formed into a powder that activated magically and spread the disease about. Such sales were both expensive and highly monitored, and the Tide kept a strict record of who had how many bags of the stuff- only thirty had ever been made- but Seamus had authorized the Fifteenth to buy a few bags of the stuff, along with a few of the less-deadly, weaker vials that carried liquid versions of the stuff that were valid only for a short while before the disease in them died. Seamus, thinking of this, now wondered just what they had done in Sailing Storm.

" We did that for the money" he said, as Albus finally gained control of his emotions and stood up, dabbing at his eyes. " We did it so we could buy the bags of Hell's Boils dust. We poisoned the port of Sailing Storm to kill all the inhabitants. It's a major port for smugglers of illegal goods, sir. Most importantly" and here Balkus smiled grimly" it's the home of Siegfried Leehalt's only daughter."

Seamus merely blinked, not comprehending the information for a minute. Understanding hitting him, he said" What" His voice was small, and choked. If anyone else had seen him, they would have seen a man mildly shocked and stunned; if the other members of the Ebony Flame had seen him, though, they would have known differently. This was the look Seamus got when he heard news he liked.

News he liked a great deal.

" The daughter of the colonel" Albus said, spitting the words out through clenched teeth as he hunched over and smiled, still shaking from his tears but now smiling through them" who led the army that attacked us in London. The daughter of the bastard who owes us the lives of every man we lost." He opened his eyes and looked up at Seamus. " The bitch is dead, sir. Or, to be correct, dying. We poured a vial down her throat and make her breathe in almost a full bag of dust. She's dying, sir. Dying most painfully."

A huge smile lit Seamus' face. Grinning like a jester and mad as a hatter, Seamus said" My friends, I believe that we have reached an understanding. You have found a wonderful, almost kingly use for Hell's Boils..."

At that moment, Ginny knocked on the door. She was almost immediately trampled by a runner from the Nightworks, who, upon seeing who it was he had bumped into, blanched and fell backwards, bowing and muttering repeatedly, backing up the whole while. Ginny, who had not been hurt and was merely mildly amused, waved her hand and turned as Seamus opened the door.

" I don't think" he said, then noticed who it was. " Oh, hello, Ginny. I'm dealing with a few soldiers here... step in, if you want." Seamus then noticed the runner. " Who's that"

" Don't know" Ginny said, stepping in lightly. " He just bumped into me."

" The eggs" the runner choked out, remembering his message through a haze of fear. " They're... they're..."

" What, soldier, what" Seamus said. " What are they"

" They're..." the soldier gasped for air, then shouted out" They're griffin eggs"

As one, Seamus and Ginny's eyes opened with shock, and then, an idea forming in their minds, looked at each other and smiled.


	38. Storm of Tears

Note: The letters **_HM_**, in italics and bold, will now separate the various sections of my story. Hope you like the new format!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything on Harry Potter, and am making no money off this work- profit or otherwise.

To everybody!

SORRY ABOUT THE LACK OF UPDATES! I'VE BEEN BUSY!

But with all that over with, I can now give you this chapter. So!

It's...

"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter 31

Storm of Tears

Jester's Keep, Oceania, Sept. 5, 11:00 p.m., near the end of the First Year of the War of the Long Twilight

There are few things that truly, truly impress/disturb the residents of Oceania. Having watched, from their comfortable positon, the building of an entire dark utopia from the middle of the world by a man who was once a hero but was now a villain (a great villain, a villain to end all villains; the villain king, the villain master, their boss and leader and king), there is not much they have not seen. Vampires can be found wandering in Oceania; Ogres, Giants, and the like can sometimes be seen wandering about and exploring the shops of this rare and unusual place. (Even in the future Harry crafted, there was stuff in Oceania you couldn't get anywhere else; it was just the flavor of this town, it's peculiar ability, its' strange slip-song call that let it beat the hell out of destiny and rise to prominence in the world. It was said, by Seamus himself, that if there was a place no one could find, that place was in Oceania, and it could not only be found there- it was often venerated there. To Seamus, it was what made the town truly great. The mass of the Wizarding world would come through here at times just to see this place- just to touch it. It was said the stones carried power in them, power left over by the Jester King passing by them on his way to the Keep the day the last White Shore army finally died- power left over from that last, devastating, ultimate battle between him and his oldest, oldest foe, one who spoke in a strong voice but fell just the way all Harry's truly terrible foes fell- they fell through arrogance, weakness, and- most of all- because of a loss of faith, easy enough to fall into when it seems like all is dark around you but so hard to get out of, even when all is light, and that much harder when the world gets really dark.)

However, the woman who just ran past all these people, tearing her clothes and dress off, hair changing into a myriad of colors, crying and screaming and shouting at anyone to stop her, please, try and stop her, she'd failed and fucked up and maybe even fucked _down_ and wasn't it terrible that it was all a waste? The guards at the door, completely stunned by the half-sane lucidity of this crazed madwoman, were simply too slow to stop her when she ran through the halls and burst out the door. Harry, face a strange mixture of boiling rage, came out and lashed out at the door, blowing it off its hinges in a hating display of might.

" If that, " Harry spoke, in a halting voice that slowed because he was grinding his teeth so much, grinding his teeth so very damn much, grinding his teeth because he was pissed and he was enraged and he was going to _kll that bitch_, " woman ever comes back here, she is to be killed. Her name, as most of you don't know, is Nilette. She is... was... a spy."

This strange proclamation was met with by gasps from all the ballroom dancers.

" And, " Harry continued, gnashing his jaws lightly, " if anyone has the slightest idea how I can find Cho, please tell me. "

Somehow feeling lighter in her heart than she had for days, Cho stepped out from a dark corner of the room where she'd been slowly sipping a form of very strong wine. Glass in hand forgotten now, Cho walked almost shyly out onto the middle of the dance floor and said, " Mi'lord? "

Harry smiled at her. " Come to me, " he whispered, " my love. "

The effect was immediate and instantaneous. Cho flung her glass aside and ran to him, and as they embraced in the middle of the ballroom floor, the crowd felt like cheering. They didn't know why they did it- spontaneous demonstrations of group loyalty and unity rarely ever having much basis in sold things or coherent ideas- but it felt right, nonetheless.

Someone might almost have said that they were appluading the one true good that did exist in Oceania. Wherever it is... no matter how tainted it might be... love has power, and love can cleanse souls. As Harry and Cho embraced, as they grasped each other in a fierce kiss which hinted of passions future and passions past, as the two souls grabbed each other in the darkness, Harry smiled.

Somewhere in the night, Tonks, not sane, ran towards the Ministry's headquarters. The lone monster in the woods (one of the final sterile males of the remnants of Aragog's horde- ironically, the Ministry army that had outposted itself near here had burned him to death a week ago, and without him, the remnants had literally eaten each other up) she met found itself torn apart by the sheer rush of magics from her mouth, moving an imaginary wand in half-clasped fingers, softly humming the tune to one enchantment with her lips while her hands drew the sigul of another in the air. As the two magics met and merged, they turned into a massive blast of razor-sharp air that shattered the spider's body and reduced it to a pile of quivering mush.

Still smiling, still chuckling, and still talking to herself, Tonks ran on towards the Ministry.

She was rather unprepared for what she found there.

But then again, considering even Seamus was a little surprised at what they found (and he was partially to blame for it), you can't really blame her.

One does not expect to see some of the greatest legendary monsters of all time ravaging the hell out of the biggest, most Ministry-loyal town in England, the one closest to the Ministry.

The place they called Home Hearth.

_**HM**_

****Home Port, Ministry town, located in England, 9:00 p.m., the next day.

The scene was a mess. The first Ministry man to arrive there- bizarrely, it was Seamus' old nemesis, Leehalt Siegfried, who had been commanding an army in Oceania but found himself a little pre-occupied before he got there- summed it up quite succinctly and aptly when he said this:

" I have seen many sights in my life. Not one of them made me cry. The deaths of my men in London and the death of my daughter in Storm Rigging have not affected me at all. But when I saw this... this made me cry. "

Seamus was never one who thought not using what you had was a smart idea. He was a man who liked to whip out his guns and whip them out early; he never put much stock on saving something for a rainy day. Since he was part of something called the Tide, Seamus liked to joke that he _was_ the rainy day, and so he decided to fight sunny ones. Bad days were rare for the Tide; good days were far better. Seamus began to play out his string of luck that winter, but for now, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, and he was using them.

One of these involved the rebel armies in England. Still run by Alexander Ceras, that girl-crazed reporter turned half-assed nut case, who had been paid in a few nights with a young girl and who had given back so much more, the army had grown to a few thousand strong, and though it was not yet enough to put up a fight, it was enough to be annoying as hell to an enemy. Seamus had planned on using them as a "last-resort" weapon, a sort of super suprise attack on the enemy's rear (Seamus planning to use the sheer shock and awe the rebel army- unsuspected to this point by the Ministry- would create by using them to keep Ministry attention away from key hotspot areas) when the war finally got going and they assaulted the Ministry directly, but now he was being forced to use them to keep Leehalt at bay and Oceania in Tide hands. Control of the city was more than important; it was vital. In a kingdom as small as what Harry ruled, he needed all the firepower he could get. The Jester's Keep was, also, a big asset to the Tide- everybody loved the damn thing, and if they ever lost it, they'd lose both their best defensive structure and a hell of a lot of morale. Seamus doubted the people would just up and dump the Tide over it, but it was good to be prepared, just in case. You never knew when you were going to need an extra spoonful of morale to get over the next rough spot in your career. So Seamus stayed put and the Keep stayed put, and all was well.

Seamus had, however, noticed a tendency among his friends to get a little... well... "over-excited" about things, and so he was going to use that in his next conquest. Seamus sent out orders to the various rebel groups in England to gather weapons and form ranks. Once that was done, they were to march on the nearest Wizarding town and beat on it. Alexander Ceras was to promise them "help" from an outside source (he claimed it to be Blancmange, a well-known, highly respected French force that dealt almost exclusively with justice and good- they were a major roadblock for the Tide to get over in future years). This way, the peasants (as Seamus privately called them in public with his friends; the Ebony Flame was well-used to this joke and rather enjoyed Seamus' off-normal sense of humor and ribbing) would be able to march with all confidence that they would have to do only a little fighting themselves. They did not know, of course, that Seamus hoped they'd all get killed. He assumed they would.

He was right. They _did_ all get killed. But before they went, a small team of would-be crack operatives (who would have failed the Marauder entry test upon applying; the test was not spectacularly hard, but the Tide had standards, after all, and you couldn't fail to live up to them) entered the house of one Mrs. Malfoy, and they managed to screw things up _spectacularly_.

To say that Mrs. Malfoy was a little suprised at the sheer volume of the attack would be an understatement. To say that she expected to get mauled by one of her own favorite pets would have been quite another.

After all, a pet that you recently named "Crabbels" just isn't supposed to kill you, is it?

**_HM_**

Mrs. Malfoy's House, in Home Hearth, Day of the Upsurge, 2:00 p.m., one half-hour into the mob attack. Daylight.

The Ministry was the World, in many ways; stupid, arrogant, foolish, and unable to see much beyond its own nose. The World had some small skill at combating Black, as it was rather tough on its own (like a blind man with a bat; he didn't connect often, but when he did, it hurt like hell), and, of course, had no luck combating White, which was holier than they could dream and couldn't be offended by such weakness as they. Heaven's armor provides the best protection.

It is the trademark of weaker minds that the Ministry never did bother to wonder why the Shore was so powerful. They always blamed cold weather (funny, in retrospect; maybe it _was_ the cold weather, the slippy, icy, cold weather that taught the Shore that battling against the elements is nothing against battling yourself, and that you must do both to be strong).

The Ministry, therefore, did _not_ consider the rag-tag army on its doorstep a problem. Consisting mostly of what one of the sergeants dismissively called "old drunks and raggedy old wives", the army was not considered a problem until the massive Samphiron that they had accidentally released stomped up, screamed, and fired three bolts off its back in their general direction. The three Damphiny Land Crabs (one of whom still had Mrs. Malfoy's bloody dress hanging onto its hand) followed it shortly thereafter, stomping and screaming and ruining things in a kind of general manner. The rag-tag army looked at the monsters, screamed, and bolted, right into the waiting arms of... itself. Confusedly, the army had tried to run off in a general direction but in no way was prepared to do so- instead, it ended up running back into itself, ended up fighting with itself, and what a glorious battle it was. Seamus had equipped them with make-shift weaponry- iron-shod clubs and that sort of thing- and it resulted in an army which bore some of the strangest, deadliest, most... home-made weapons on the planet. One man, bearing the Wizarding equivalent of a molotov cocktail in his hand- a small mixture of violatile gases and liquid fire- was punched in the head by a much bigger man passing him by. He got angry, threw his violatile mixture somewhere off into the distance, and ended up catching several people on fire. These flaming corpses, unluckily for all involved, happened to be packed in a close-knit group of people, and no one could escape before they, too, were caught afire. One unlucky man was killed when the bottle of explosive he was holding- from the same factory as the one that started the blaze, ironically, and from the same maker (a vampire named Ockslidge)- burst from the heat of the flaming, shambling, walking corpses near him, and that explosion caused even more people to catch afire. In short, the main portion of the army (which was still packed together in a tiny place in a small circle, making the confusion and fire even more rampant) was soon on fire. The Samphiron, land crabs, and most of the Ministry soldiers not directly involved in dealing with this crowd did not notice them.

To the Ministry's credit, they did not freak out when the massive Samphiron popped up. They treated it like any other DMB (destructive magical beast- if there was one thing the Ministry was good at, it was coming up with strange and bizarre sounding acronyms that rather freaked out the average citizen)- figure out its weakness, whether it can be killed, and, if it cannot be killed (for whatever political/magical reasons may interfere), how to contain it. Unfortunately, the Ministry man who should have been doing the research (a glasses-wearing, crazy old badger named Dum'non, regarded as an idiot by most people, who couldn't fight to save his life and who couldn't even do his job properly- as much as he looked like a mad scientist, he could never remember _anything_, and he always had to go back and check his books whenever his supposed "expertise" had to be called on whenever strange magical events occurred) that day was nowhere to be found.

He was lying outside, dead, a massive Samphiron energy bolt having gone through his head and out the back of it. There was nothing left of his face. It also didn't help that the book he'd been carrying had been lost when he dropped it in death.

(Hilariously enough, he'd went outside to enjoy a bit of sun for the day before the Samphiron's attack had begun. This merely goes to prove that one can sometimes by killed in very ironic ways- in this case, the irony of the Creature of Light gunning you down while you were out to get a tan for the day. Some people have bad, bad lives.)

To make a long story short, the Ministry had no idea how they were gonna kill this thing- it was huge, for one thing, and scaly, for another, making it a bad impacter of morale as well as a ridiculously tough beast- and the lights it were firing off were doing no good in and of themselves either. A curious quality of light is not that it breaks rune defenses- not really (not any more than any other type of natural attack would damage them, excluding lightning and its obvious effects)- but that it simply goes _through_ them, and together with lightning, is one of the elements that does not obey rune law. Henceforth, men hiding behind bunker thickness and bunker stone were slammed with light, while men wearing light silk embroidered cloths (immune to the effects of light magic) were left unharmed. Some men were literally flash-fried as they sat near the wall; others were missed as the shots almost hit them but bounced off some reflective piece of armor. Men died and men screamed; and inside the bunker all was confusion.

Then the crabs came up, and most of the walls went down.

To say the ending was violent would be... well... insufficient.

It was _horrible_.

_**HM**_

R & R please!


	39. So This is Honor

Sorry for the wait

But I had what you might call a date?

We'll leave it at that

College took my hat

But now...

I'm back!

Also- as a sidenote... the "I" in the story isn't me. The secrets shall be revealed...

SOON!

"SHOWTIME!"

Harry's Madness

Chapter 32

So This is Honor

Jester's Keep, Oceania, Sept. 5, three hours after Nilette's departure. Night.

He lay there, with his wife, his lady monster. Cho snuggled up to Harry, and he kissed her... it was hours after the sudden scene in the hall below, and Harry knew he had hell to pay when Seamus began asking him just what he'd been thinking (at the next meeting of the Ebony Flame- which, Harry thought with a flash of anger at himself, was overdue by a week. He'd never cancelled the meetings before...), but he'd fix that, it'd be all right. He was all right- it was over now. The lust was gone from him... and the confusion it brought with it. The black obsidian of the twisted honor they'd made and literally bet their world on was back in him.

He was back.

As he lay there, Cho began talking to him.

" So..." she said, smiling, kissing his neck. " What just happened down there?"

" It's a long story," Harry said, " but now's as good a time as any to tell it..."

His voice carried on for thirty minutes in the night, and when it was over, he received a very hard slap from Cho for even _thinking_ about another woman, then she gave him what he always referred to as her "glass-blowing". Harry rememberedthis nightafterwards as thenight that cemeneted their marriage for the next few thou-

Well, considering that they are still married, even in this tired old historian's life, I guess I shouldn't be making notes on time, should I?

HM

Jester's Keep, that same night, three hours and ten minutes beforehand. Night.

There was little Harry was denied. That is a truth. Oh, sure, he could not overwrite the boundaries of the Writ of Law; he was not powerful enough, nor did he even want to, attempt that. But other than the Writ which Harry himself had partially written and made the core of his kingdom, he was completely, totally without limits. His people were of the Black- a Black so dark that it almost glowed. His people were the rain itself- and they knew almost no limits. There was a lot that Harry could have had. Surely a bit of extramarital sex was not so bad, considering that he had killed, would kill again, and had ordered Dudley to a living hell as punishment.(Harry resolutely told his brain to shut up when he discovered that the list of his crimes was getting really, really long.) Surely this wasn't that bad.

But... why did it bother him so?

Nilette walked in, and he felt the tug- the thing that said _Hot girl, do now_. But he also thought something else, and that was new. He was thinking, _**Why?**_

_Why not?_ the tug said back.

_**Because... I have the power to not do it.**_

The thoughts drifted off slightly, and Harry was left with with a slightly confused feeling. It intensified as the night grew stronger.

It is pointless to dwell on how the two came together- Harry was the Jester King and Nilette had, well, her talents. The two of them eventually arranged a meeting through cloak and guile that had Nilette entering under disguise (her mad mind whispering _spy within a spy_ the whole time) and finally managing to make it to the King's chambers, all of the guards of whom were gone (he'd told them that he needed an hour on this floor to himself, for various reasons, and they obeyed like the good soldiers they were). So the two had come to this, and only a brief purring of pointless words ensued before clothing was being removed.

Harry had just started to kiss and suck on her neck (but not too hard; hickeys look suspicious the next morning, and Nilette might forget- or not know how- to magic them away, though either was doubtful with a girl as beautiful as her) when the thoughts and feelings came back to him, stronger.

**You shouldn't do this**.

**_I know._**

**Then why are you?**

**_Because_...**

And just as he was about to unleash her breasts from their blouse, he stood up.

" Leave. Go."

" What?" she said, and the first thing Harry noticed was that she was not breathing hard at all, to be a woman who expected that the darkest king in existence was about to make love to her.

" I said leave. Go out the way you came, with the cloak back on." He'd lended the invisibility cloak to her for her own usage. That had been the extent of her disguise. Worked well, too, but now he hoped that she didn't damage it from use. It had both practical and sentimental value, in a way- though the sentiment was rather different this time. As he remembered it, Cho had used it to kill Lucius Malfoy, back when his army numbered in dozens rather than thousands. That thought made a jolt.

**_Cho..._**

" No."

Even being who he was, Harry received a jolt. He looked back at her, away from his musing at the wall about Cho. " Huh?"

And Nilette's hair rapidly shifted colors, and she started to turn into a face Harry knew very, very well.

" Tonks?" Harry said, and before he knew it reflexes kicked in and he was leaping against the wall, no longer Harry Potter but the Jester, hands snapping into clawed shapes that formed spells most Wizards couldn't even understand.

And her first attack missed, quick as a snake, wand darting out, Avrada Kevrada screamed into the night and fed by mad hatred.A killing shotthat only Harry had ever survived- through the power of a protection he no longer had- slammed into a pillar, and then Tonks was just- gone.

Harry blinked. He'd never seen someone run so fast. Of course-

He grinned. He ran faster.

Bloody spy. Or was that fucking spy? He didn't even pretend to know.

-Hope you guys like the update! And don't worry- I ain't quite dead yet. And one more note to some random reviewer- my Christianity would rather prevent this story from being satanic, wouldn't it? (laughter)


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